THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CASSELL'S   STANDARD  LIBRARY 


THE    1NGOLDSBY   LEGENDS 


CASSELL-S  STANDARD   LIBRARY. 


Crown  8wt  doth  gilt,  is.  each  net. 


i.  Adam  Bede  - 
9.  Westward  Ho 


By  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
By  CHARLES  KINGSLKY. 


3.  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop  -    By  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


4.  Ivanhoe 


-    By  Sir  WALTER  SCOTT. 


5.  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii    By  LORD  LYTTON. 


6.  Pride  and  Prejudice 

7.  Mill  on  the  Floss      - 

8.  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 

9.  American  Humour   - 

10.  Jane  Eyre    .... 

11.  Handy  Andy        ... 

12.  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  • 

13.  The  Prince  of  the  House  of  David 

14.  The  Ingoldsby  Legends 


By  JANK  AUSTEN. 

By  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

By  FENIMORB  COOPER. 

Selected. 

By  CHARLOTTE  BRONTB. 

By  SAMUEL  LOVER. 

By  HARRIET  BEBCHBR 

STOWB. 

By  the  Rev.   T.  H.  INGRAHAM. 
-    By  the  Rev.  RICI 


15.  Rienzi 

16.  The  Scarlet  Letter    - 

17.  Oliver  Twist 

18.  The  Heart  of  Midlothian 


HARD    H. 

BARHAM. 
By  BULWER  LYTTON. 

By  NATHANIEL  HAW* 

THORNE. 

By  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
By  Sir  WALTER  SCOTT. 


Casstll  &•  Company,  Limited,  London  ;  Paris,  New 
York  &•  Mtlbournt, 


THE  INGOLDSBY 
LEGENDS 


By  the 

REV,  RICHARD  R  BARHAM 


Cassell  and  Company,  Limited 
London,  Paris,  New  York  and 
Melbourne.  MCMH 


College 
Library 

FR 


CONTENTS. 


FA1JS 

THE  NURSE'S  STOEY— THE  HAND  ov  GLORY 7 

PATTY  MORGAN  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY — "LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCK  !"  13 

THE  GHOST .'      .  20 

THE  CYNOTAPH  .       .        .'.''. 29 

LKOEND  OP  HAMILTON  TIGHE   .     '.     ".    '".."'.'.      ".  33 
THE  WITCHES'  FROLIC      .       «'.'.'.       .       ?    ' .       .36 

THE  JACKDAW  OP  RHEIMS 50 

A  LAY  OP  ST.  DUNSTAN                  .  ^     .     ' 54 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  GENGULPHUS '  "**'.  ***.  63 

THE  LAY  OP  ST.  ODILLE  .       , .72 

A  LAY  OP  ST.  NICHOLAS 78 

THE  TRAGEDY 85 

MR.  BARNEY  MAGUIRE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CORONATION        .       .  88 

THE  "MONSTHE"  BALLOON 91 

HON.  MR.  SUOKLETHUMBKIN'S  STORY — THE  EXECUTION  ...  94 

SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NKW  PLAY 98 

MR.  PETEHS'S  STORY— THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG 106 

THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE 121 

SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS   .',, .    •  « 140 

THE  MERCHANT  OP  VENICE 148 

THE  AUTO-DA-F£ 159 

THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE       •  ^  . ;    «• 175 

NETLEY  ABBEY 188 

I 


H,  CONTENTS 

MM 

FRAGMENT 192 

NELL  COOK 193 

NURSTOY  REMINISCENCES 201 

AUNT  FANNY 203 

MISADVENTURES  AT  MARGATE 210 

THB  SMUGGLER'S  LEAP 214 

BLOUDIB  JACKE  OF  SHREWSBEIIKIE  .......  220 

THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD       »       ....       .       .       .       .  231 

THE  DEAD  DRUMMER 236 

A  Row  IN  AN  OMNIBUS  (Box) 247 

THE  LAY  OF  ST.  CUTHBEHT      .       .       .       ^    ......       •       •  251 

THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS 262 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  OLD  WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY         .       .       .  272 

RAISING  THE  DEVIL 287 

THE  LAY  OF  ST.  MEDABD 288 

THE  LORD  OF  THOULOUSE 294 

THE  WEDDING  DAY  ;  OH,  THE  BUCCANEER'S  CURSE       ...  307 

THB  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING 320 

THE  BROTHERS  OF  BIRCHINGTON 340 

THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY 351 

THE  HOUSE-WARMING 360 

THE  FORLORN  ONE    ......       t;  v.«,..    .       .  373 

UNSOPHISTICATED  WISHES 374 

HERMANN  ;  OR,  THE  BROKEN  SPEAK 375 

THE  POPLAR 378 

NEW-MADE  HONOUR 378 

THE  CONFESSION ...  379 

SONG .                       ...  379 

As  I  LAY  A-THINKYNGC    ...                       ....  380 


THE  IMOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


THE     HAND     OF     GLORY. 

ON  the  lone  bleak  moor,  At  the  midnight  hour, 

Beneath  the  Gallows  Tree, 
Hand  in  hand   The  Murderers  stand, 

By  one,  by  two,  by  three  1 

And  the  Moon  that  night    With  a  grey,  cold  light 
Each  baleful  object  tips  ; 

One  half  of  her  form    Is  seen  through  the  storm, 
The  other  half  's  hid  in  Eclipse  ! 

And  the  cold  Wind  howls,    And  the  Thunder  growls, 
And  the  Lightning  is  broad  and  bright  ; 

And  altogether    It's  very  bad  weather, 
And  an  unpleasant  sort  of  a  night  ! 

"  Now  mount  who  list,    And  close  by  the  wrist, 
Sever  me  quickly  the  Dead  Man's  fist  ! 

Now  climb  who  dare    Where  he  swings  in  air, 
And  pluck  me  five  locks  of  the  Dead  Man's  hair  !  " 


There's  an  old  woman  dwells  upon  Tappington  Moor, 

She  hath  years  on  her  back  at  the  least  fourscore, 

And  some  people  fancy  a  great  many  more  ; 

Her  nose  it  is  hook'd,    Her  back  it  is  crook'd, 
Her  eyes  blear  and  red  :    On  the  top  of  her  head 
Is  a  mutch,  and  on  that    A  shocking  bad  hat, 

Extinguisher-shaped,  the  brim  narrow  and  flat ! 

Then, — My  Gracious  ! — her  beard ! — it  would  sadly  perplex 

A  spectator  at  first  to  distinguish  her  sex ; 


8  .  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS, 

Nor,  I'll  venture  to  say,  without  scrutiny  could  he 
Pronounce  her,  off-handed,  a  Punch  or  a  Judy. 
Did  you  see  her,  in  short,  that  mud-hovel  within, 
With  her  knees  to  her  nose,  and  her  nose  to  her  chin; 
Leering  up  with  that  queer,  indescribable  grin, 
You'd  lift  up  your  hands  in  amazement,  and  cry, 
" — Well ! — I  never  did  see  such  a  regular  Guy ! " 

And  now  before    That  old  Woman's  door, 
Where  nought  that's  good  may  be, 

Hand  in  hand    The  Murderers  stand, 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three  ! 
Oh  !  'tis  a  horrible  sight  to  view, 
In  that  horrible  hovel,  that  horrible  crew, 
By  the  pale  blue  glare  of  that  flickering  flame, 
Doing  the  deed  that  hath  never  a  name  ! 

'Tis  awful  to  hear    Those  words  of  fear  ! 
The  prayer  mutter'd  backwards,  and  said  with  a  sneer  1 
(Matthew  Hopkins  himself  has  assured  us  that  when 
A  witch  says  her  prayers,  she  begins  with  "  Amen.") — 

— 'Tis  awful  to  see    On  that  old  Woman's  knee 
The  dead,  shrivell'd  hand,  as  she  clasps  it  with  glee  1 — 

And  now  with  care,    The  five  locks  of  hair 
From  the  skull  of  the  Gentleman  dangling  up  there, 

With  the  grease  and  the  fat    Of  a  black  Tom  Cat. 

She  hastens  to  mix,    And  to  twist  into  wicks, 
And  one  on  the  thumb  and  each  finger  to  fix. — 
(For  another  receipt  the  same  charm  to  prepare, 
Consult  Mr.  Ainsworth  and  Petit  Albert.) 

"  Now  open  lock    To  the  Dead  Man's  knock  ! 
Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band  ! — 

Nor  move,  nor  swerve,    Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve, 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand  ! 
Sleep  all  who  sleep  ! — Wake  all  who  wake  I — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake  1 " 


All  is  silent !  all  is  still, 
Save  the  ceaseless  moan  of  the  bubbling  rill 
As  it  wells  from  the  bosom  of  Tappington  Hill, 
And  in  Tappington  Hall    Great  and  Small, 


THE  HAND   OF  GLORY, 

Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  and  Groom, 
Each  one  hath  sought  his  separate  room, 
And  sleep  her  dark  mantle  hath  o'er  them  cast, 
For  the  midnight  hour  hath  long  been  past ! 
All  is  darksome  in  earth  and  sky, 
Save  from  yon  casement,  narrow  and  high, 
A  quivering  beam    On  the  tiny  stream 
Plays,  like  some  taper's  fitful  gleam 
By  one  that  is  watching  wearily. 

Within  that  casement,  narrow  and  high, 
In  his  secret  lair,  where  none  may  spy, 
Sits  one  whose  brow  is  wrinkled  with  care, 
And  the  thin  grey  locks  of  his  failing  hair 
Have  left  his  little  bald  pate  all  bare ; 

For  his  full-bottom'd  wig    Hangs,  bushy  and  big, 
On  the  top  of  his  old-fashion'd,  high-back'd  chair. 

Unbraced  are  his  clothes,    Ungarter'd  his  hose. 
His  gown  is  bedizen'd  with  tulip  and  rose, 
Flowers  of  remarkable  size  and  hue, 
Flowers  such  as  Eden  never  knew  ; 
— And  there  by  many  a  sparkling  heap 

Of  the  good  red  gold,    The  tale  is  told 
What  powerful  spell  avails  to  keep 
That  careworn  man  from  his  needful  sleep  ! 

Haply,  he  deems  no  eye  can  see 

As  he  gloats  on  his  treasure  greedily, — 

The  shining  store    Of  glittering  ore, 
The  fair  rose-noble,  the  bright  moidore, 
And  the  broad  Double- Joe  from  ayont  the  sea, — 
But  there's  one  that  watches  as  well  as  he ; 

For,  wakeful  and  sly,    In  a  closet  hard  by, 
On  his  truckle  bed  lieth  a  little  Foot-page, 
A  boy  who's  uncommonly  sharp  of  his  ag€, 

Like  young  Master  Homer,    Who  erst  in  a  corner 

Sat  eating  a  Christmas  pie  : 

And,  while  that  Old  Gentleman's  counting  his  hoards, 
Little  Hugh  peeps  through  a  crack  in  the  boards  ! 


There's  a  voice  in  the  air,    There's  a  step  on  the  stair, 
The  old  man  starts  in  his  cane-back'd  chair  ; 
A* 


10  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

At  the  first  faint  sound    He  gazes  around, 
And  holds  up  his  dip  of  sixteen  to  the  pound. 

Then  half  arose    From  beside  his  toes 
His  little  pug-dog  with  his  little  pug  nose, 
But,  ere  he  can  vent  one  inquisitive  sniff, 
That  little  pug-dog  stands  stark  and  stiff, 

For  low,  yet  clear,    Now  fall  on  the  ear 
— Where  once  pronounced  for  ever  they  dwell — 
The  unholy  words  of  the  Dead  Man's  spell ! 

"  Open  lock    To  the  Dead  Man's  knock  ! 
Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band ! — 

Nor  move,  nor  swerve,    Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve, 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand  I 
Sleep  all  who  sleep ! — Wake  all  who  wake  ! — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake  ! " 

Now  lock,  nor  bolt,  nor  bar  avails, 

Nor  stout  oak  panel  thick-studded  with  nails. 

Heavy  and  harsh  the  hinges  creak, 

Though  they  had  been  oil'd  in  the  course  of  the  week ; 

The  door  opens  wide  as  wide  may  be 

And  there  they  stand,    That  murderous  band, 
Lit  by  the  light  of  that  GLORIOUS  HAND, 

By  one ! — by  two  ! — by  three ! 

They  have  pass'd  through  the  porch,  they  have  pass'd  throttg& 

the  hall, 
Where  the  Porter  sat  snoring  against  the  wall ; 

The  very  snore  froze    In  his  very  snub  nose. 
You'd  have  verily  deem'd  he  had  snored  his  last 
When  the  GLORIOUS  HAND  by  the  side  of  him  pass'd  ! 
E'en  the  little  wee  mouse,  as  it  ran  o'er  the  mat, 
At  the  top  of  its  speed  to  escape  from  the  cat, 

Though  half  dead  with  affright,    Paused  in  its  flight ; 
And  the  cat  that  was  chasing  that  little  wee  thing 
Lay  oouch'd  as  a  statue  in  act  to  spring  1 

And  now  they  are  there,    On  the  head  of  the  stair, 
And  the  long  crooked  whittle  is  gleaming  and  bare ! 
—I  really  don't  think  any  money  would  bribe 
Me  the  horrible  scene  that  ensued  to  describe, 


THE  HAND  Of  GLORY.  U 

Or  the  wild,  wild  glare  of  that  old  man's  eye, 
His  dumb  despair,  and  deep  agony. 

The  kid  from  the  pen,  and  the  lamb  from  the  fold, 
Unmoved  may  the  blade  of  the  butcher  behold ; 
They  dream  not — ah,  happier  they  ! — that  the  knife, 
Though  uplifted,  can  menace  their  innocent  life ; 
It  falls  ; — the  frail  thread  of  their  being  is  riven, 
They  dread  not,  suspect  not,  the  blow  till  'tis  given. — 
But,  oh !  what  a  thing  'tis  to  see  and  to  know 
That  the  bare  knife  is  raised  in  the  hand  of  the  foe, 
Without  hope  to  repel,  or  to  ward  off  the  blow ! — 
— Enough  I— let's  pass  over  as  fast  as  we  can 
The  fate  of  that  grey,  that  unhappy  old  man ! 

But  fancy  poor  Hugh,    Aghast  at  the  view, 

Powerless  alike  to  speak  or  to  do  ! 

In  vain  doth  he  try    To  open  the  eye 
That  is  shut,  or  close  that  which  is  clapt  to  the  chink, 
Though  he'd  give  all  the  world  to  be  able  to  wink  ! — 
No ! — for  all  that  this  world  can  give  or  refuse, 
I  would  not  be  now  in  that  little  boy's  shoes, 
Or  indeed  any  garment  at  all  that  is  Hugh's  ! 
— 'Tis  lucky  for  him  that  the  chink  in  the  wall 
He  has  peep'd  through  so  long  is  so  narrow  and  small ! 

Wailing  voices,  sounds  of  woe 

Such  as  follow  departing  friends, 
That  fatal  night  round  Tappington  go, 

Its  long-drawn  roofs  and  its  gable  ends : 
Ethereal  Spirits,  gentle  and  good, 
Aye  weep  and  lament  o'er  a  deed  of  blood. 


Tis  early  dawn — the  morn  is  grey, 

And  the  clouds  and  the  tempest  have  pass'd  away, 

And  all  things  betoken  a  very  fine  day  ; 

But,  while  the  lark  her  carol  is  singing, 

Shrieks  and  screams  are  through  Tappington  ringing ! 

Upstarting  all,    Great  and  small. 
Each  one  who's  found  within  Tappington  Hall, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  or  Groom, 
All  seek  at  once  that  old  Gentleman's  room  : 


13  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  there,  on  the  floor,    Drench'd  in  its  gore, 
A  ghastly  corpse  lies  exposed  to  the  view, 
Carotid  and  jugular  both  cut  through  ! 

And  there,  by  its  side,    'Mid  the  crimson  tide, 
Kneels  a  little  Foot-page  of  tenderest  years  ; 
Adown  his  pale  cheek  the  fast-falling  tears 
Are  coursing  each  other  round  and  big, 
And  he's  staunching  the  blood  with  a  full-bottom'd  wig. 
Alas !  and  alack  for  his  staunching ! — 'tis  plain, 
As  anatomists  tell  us,  that  never  again 
Shall  life  revisit  the  foully  slain, 
When  once  they've  been  cut  through  the  jugular  vein 


There's  a  hue  and  a  cry  through  the  County  of  Kent, 
And  in  chase  of  the  cut-throats  a  Constable's  sent, 
But  no  one  can  tell  the  man  which  way  they  went : 
There's  a  little  Foot-page  with  that  Constable  goes, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  with  a  little  pug  nose. 


In  Rochester  town,    At  the  sign  of  the  Crown, 
Three  shabby-genteel  men  are  just  sitting  down 
To  a  fat  stubble-goose,  with  potatoes  done  brown  ; 

When  a  little  Foot-page    Rushes  in,  in  a  rage. 
Upsetting  the  apple-sauce,  onions,  and  sage. 
That  little  Foot-page  takes  the  first  by  the  throat, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  takes  the  next  by  the  coat, 
And  the  Constable  seizes  the  one  more  remote  ; 
And  fair  rose-nobles  and  broad  moidores, 
The  Waiter  pulls  out  of  their  pockets  by  scores, 
And  the  Boots  and  the  Chambermaids  run  in  and  stare  ; 
And  the  Constable  says,  with  a  dignified  air, 
"  You're  wanted,  Gen'lemen,  one  and  all, 
For  that  'ere  precious  lark  at  Tappington  Hall ! " 

There's  a  black  gibbet  frowns  upon  Tappington  Moor, 
Where  a  former  black  gibbet  has  frowned  before ; 

It  is  as  black  as  black  may  be, 
And  murderers  there    Are  dangling  in  air, 

By  one ! — by  two ! — by  three ! 


"LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCK  T  18 

There's  a  horrid  old  hag  in  a  steeple-crown'd  hat, 
Round  her  neck  they  have  tied  to  a  hempen  cravat 
A  dead  Man's  hand,  and  a  dead  Tom  Cat  1  • 
They  have  tied  up  her  thumbs,  they  have  tied  up  her  toes. 
They  have  tied  up  her  eyes,  they  have  tied  up  her  limbs  : 
Into  Tappington  mill-dam  souse  she  goes, 
With  a  whoop  and  a  halloo ! — "  She  swims ! — She  swims  ! " 

They  have  dragg'd  her  to  land,    And  every  one's  hand 
Is  grasping  a  faggot,  a  billet,  or  brand, 
When  a  queer-looking  horseman,  drest  all  in  black, 
Snatches  up  that  old  harridan  just  like  a  sack 
To  the  crupper  behind  him,  puts  spurs  to  his  hack, 
Makes  a  dash  through  the  crowd,  and  is  off  in  a  crack 

No  one  can  tell,    Though  they  guess  pretty  well, 
Which  way  that  grim  rider  and  old  woman  go, 
For  all  see  he's  a  sort  of  infernal  Ducrow ; 

And  she  scream'd  so,  and  cried,    We  may  fairly  decide 
That  the  old  woman  did  not  much  relish  her  ride ! 

MORAL. 

This  truest  of  stories  confirms  beyond  doubt 
That  truest  of  adages — "  Murder  will  out ! " 
In  vain  may  the  blood-spiller  "  double  "  and  fly, 
In  vain  even  witchcraft  and  sorcery  try : 
Although  for  a  time  he  may  'scape,  by-and-by 
He'll  be  sure  to  be  caught  by  a  Hugh  and  a  Cry  I 


t&e 

"LOOK    AT    THE    CLOCK!" 
FYTTE  L 

"  LOOK  at  the  Clock !  "  quoth  Winifred  Pryce, 
As  she  open'd  the  door  to  her  husband's  knock, 

Then  paused  to  give  him  a  piece  of  advice, 
"  You  nasty  Wannint,  look  at  the  Clock ! 


14  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEOENDS. 

Is  this  the  way,  you    Wretch,  every  day  you 
Treat  her  who  vow'd  to  love  and  obey  you  ? — 

Out  all  night !    Me  in  a  fright ; 
Staggering  home  as  it's  just  getting  light  5 
You  intoxified  brute! — you  insensible  block  1— 
Look  at  the  clock  !— Do  1— Look  at  the  Clock  ! " 

Winifred  Pryce  was  tidy  and  clean, 
Her  gown  was  a  flower'd  one,  her  petticoat  green, 
Her  buckles  were  bright  as  her  milking  cans, 
And  her  hat  was  a  beaver,  and  made  like  a  man's ; 
Her  little  red  eyes  were  deep-set  in  their  socket-holes, 
Her  gown-tail  was  turn'd  up,  and  tuck'd  through  the  pocket* 
holes; 

A  face  like  a  ferret    Betoken'd  her  spirit : 
To  conclude,  Mrs  Pryce  was  not  over  young, 
Had  very  short  legs,  and  a  very  long  tongue. 

Now  David  Pryce    Had  one  darling  vice  : 
Remarkably  partial  to  anything  nice ; 
Nought  that  was  good  to  him  came  amiss, 
Whether  to  eat,  to  drink,  or  to  kiss  ! 

Especially  ale —    If  it  was  not  too  stale 
I  really  believe  he'd  have  emptied  a  pail : 

Not  that  in  Wales    They  talk  of  their  Ales  ; 
To  pronounce  the  word  they  make  use  of  might  trouble  you, 
Being  spelt  with  a  C,  two  Rs,  and  a  W. 

That  particular  day,    As  I've  heard  people  say, 
Mr.  David  Pryce  had  been  soaking  his  clay, 
And  amusing  himself  with  his  pipe  and  cheroots, 
The  whole  afternoon,  at  the  Goat-in-Boots, 

With  a  couple  more  soakers,    Thoroughbred  smokers, 
Both,  like  himself,  prime  singers  and  jokers  ; 
And  long  after  day  had  drawn  to  a  close, 
And  the  rest  of  the  world  was  wrapp'd  in  repose, 
They  were  roaring  out  "  Shenkin ! "  and  "  Ar  hydd  y  nos ; " 
While  David  himself,  to  a  Sassenach  tune, 
Sang,  "  We've  drunk  down  the  Sun,  boys  !  let's  drink  down 
the  Moon  ! 

What  have  we  with  day  to  do  1 

Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce,  'twas  made  for  you." 


"LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCK  I"  16 

At  length,  when  they  couldn't  well  drink  any  more, 
Old  "  Goat-in-Boots  "  showed  them  the  door : 

And  then  came  that  knock,    And  the  sensible  shock 
David  felt  when  his  wife  cried,  "  Look  at  the  Clock  ! " 
For  the  hands  stood  as  crooked  as  crooked  might  be, 
The  long  at  the  Twelve,  and  the  short  at  the  Three  1 

That  self -same  clock  had  long  been  a  bone 
Of  contention  between  this  Darby  and  Joan, 
And  often,  among  their  pother  and  rout, 
When  this  otherwise  amiable  couple  fell  out, 

Pryce  would  drop  a  cool  hint,   With  an  ominous  squint 
At  its  case,  of  an  "  Uncle  "  of  his,  who'd  a  "  Spout." 

That  horrid  word  "  Spout "    No  sooner  came  out 
Than  Winifred  Pryce  would  turn  her  about, 

And  with  scorn  on  her  lip,    And  a  hand  on  each  hip, 
"  Spout "  herself  till  her  nose  grew  red  at  the  tip. 

"  You  thundering  willin,    I  know  you'd  be  killing 
Your  wife — ay,  a  dozen  of  wives — for  a  shilling  ! 

You  may  do  what  you  please,    You  may  sell  my  chemise, 
(Mrs.  P.  was  too  well-bred  to  mention  her  smock) 
But  I  never  will  part  with  my  Grandmother's  Clock  1 " 

Mrs.  Pryce's  tongue  ran  long  and  ran  fast ; 

But  patience  is  apt  to  wear  out  at  last, 

And  David  Pryce  in  temper  was  quick, 

So  he  stretch'd  out  his  hand,  and  caught  hold  of  a  stick  : 

Perhaps  in  its  use  he  might  mean  to  be  lenient, 

But  walking  just  then  wasn't  very  convenient. 

So  he  threw  it  instead    Direct  at  her  head  ; 

It  knock'd  off  her  hat ;    Down  she  fell  fiat ; 
Her  case,  perhaps,  was  not  much  mended  by  that : 
But  whatever  it  was, — whether  rage  and  pain 
Produced  apoplexy,  or  burst  a  vein, 
Or  her  tumble  produced  a  concussion  of  brain, 
I  can't  say  for  certain — but  this  I  can, 
When,  sober'd  by  fright,  to  assist  her  he  ran, 
Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  was  as  dead  as  Queen  Anne ! 

The  fearful  catastrophe,    Named  in  my  last  strophe, 
As  adding  to  grim  Death's  exploits  such  a  vast  trophy, 


16  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Made  a  great  noise  ;  and  the  shocking  fatality 
Ran  over,  like  wildfire,  the  whole  Principality. 
And  then  came  Mr.  Ap  Thomas,  the  Coroner, 
With  his  jury  to  sit,  some  dozen  or  more,  on  her. 

Mr.  Pryce,  to  commence    His  "  ingenious  defence," 
Made  a  "  powerful  appeal "  to  the  jury's  "  good  sense  : " 

"  The  world  he  must  defy    Ever  to  justify 
Any  presumption' of  ' Malice  Prepense.'" 

The  unlucky  lick    From  the  end  of  his  stick 
He  "  deplored," — he  was  "  apt  to  be  rather  too  quick ; "  - 

But,  really,  her  prating    Was  so  aggravating  : 
Some  trifling  correction  was  just  what  he  meant : — all 
The  rest,  he  assured  them,  was  "  quite  accidental ! " 

Then  he  calls  Mr.  Jones,  Who  depones  to  her  tones, 
And  her  gestures,  and  hints  about  u  breaking  his  bones ; " 
While  Mr.  Ap  Morgan,  and  Mr.  Ap  Rhys 

Declare  the  deceased  Had  styled  him  "  a  Beast," 
And  swear  they  had  witness'd,  with  grief  and  surprise, 
The  allusion  she  made  to  his  limbs  and  his  eyes. 

The  jury,  in  fine,  having  sat  on  the  body 

The  whole  day,  discussing  the  case,  and  gin  toddy, 

Return'd  about  half -past  eleven  at  night 

The  following  verdict,  "  We  find,  Sarve  her  right  I u 

Mr.  Pryce,  Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  being  dead, 
Felt  lonely,  and  moped  ;  and  one  evening  he  said 
He  would  marry  Miss  Davis  at  once  in  her  stead. 

Not  far  from  his  dwelling,  From  the  vale  proudly  swelling, 
Rose  a  mountain  ;  its  name  you'll  excuse  me  from  telling, 
For  the  vowels  made  use  of  in  Welsh  are  so  few 
That  the  A  and  the  E,  the  I,  O,  and  the  U, 
Have  really  but  little  or  nothing  to  do ; 
And  the  duty,  of  course,  falls  the  heavier  by  far, 
On  the  L,  and  the  H,  and  the  N,  and  the  R. 

Its  first  syllable,  "  PEN,"    Is  pronounceable ;— then 
Come  two  L  Ls,  and  two  H  Hs,  two  F  Fs,  and  an  N  ; 
About  half  a  score  Rs,  and  some  Ws  follow, 
Beating  all  my  best  efforts  at  euphony  hollow  : 
But  we  shan't  have  to  mention  it  often,  so  when 
We  do.  with  your  leave,  we'll  curtail  it  to  "  PEN.' 


"LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCK!"  17 

Well— the  moon  shone  bright    Upon  "  PEN  "  that  night, 
When  Pryce,  being  quit  of  his  fuss  and  his  fright, 

Was  scaling  its  side    With  that  sort  of  stride 
A  man  puts  out  when  walking  in  search  of  a  bride. 

Mounting  higher  and  higher,    He  began  to  perspire, 
'Till,  finding  his  legs  were  beginning  to  tire, 

And  feeling  opprest    By  a  pain  in  his  chest, 
He  paused,  and  turn'd  round  to  take  breath  and  to  rest : 
A  walk  all  up  hill  is  apt,  we  know, 
To  make  one,  however  robust,  puff  and  blow, 
So  he  stopp'd  and  look'd  down  on  the  valley  below. 

O'er  fell  and  o'er  fen,    Over  mountain  and  glen, 
All  bright  in  the  moonshine,  his  eye  roved,  and  then 
All  the  Patriot  rose  in  his  soul,  and  he  thought 
Upon  Wales,  and  her  glories,  and  all  he'd  been  taught 

Of  her  Heroes  of  old,    So  brave  and  so  bold, — 
Of  her  Bards  with  long  beards,  and  harps  mounted  in  gold ; 

Of  King  Edward  the  First,    Of  memory  accurst ; 
And  the  scandalous  manner  in  which  he  behaved, 

Killing  poets  by  dozens,    With  their  uncles  and  cousins, 
Of  whom  not  one  in  fifty  had  ever  been  shaved — 
Of  the  Court  Ball,  at  which,  by  a  lucky  mishap, 
Owen  Tudor  fell  into  Queen  Katherine's  lap  ; 

And  how  Mr.  Tudor    Successfully  woo'd  her, 
Till  the  Dowager  put  on  a  new  wedding  ring, 
And  so  made  him  Father-in-law  to  the  King. 

He  thought  upon  Arthur  and  Merlin  of  yore, 

On  Gryffith  ap  Conan  and  Owen  Glendour  ; 

On  Pendragon,  and  Heaven  knows  how  many  more. 

He  thought  of  all  this,  as  he  gazed,  in  a  trice, 

And  on  all  things,  in  short,  but  the  late  Mrs.  Pryce  ; 

When  a  lumbering  noise  from  behind  made  him  start, 

And  sent  the  blood  back  in  full  tide  to  his  heart, 

Which  went  pit-a-pat    As  he  cried  out,  "  What's  that  ?  "— 
That  very  queer  sound  1 — Does  it  come  from  the  ground  ? 

Or  the  air, — from  above, — or  below, — or  around  1 — 
It  is  not  like  Talking,    It  is  not  like  Walking, 

It's  not  like  the  clattering  of  pot  or  of  pan, 

Or  the  tramp  of  a  horse, — or  the  tread  of  a  man,-- 


18  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Or  the  hum  of  a  crowd,  or  the  shouting  of  boys, — 
It's  really  a  deuced  odd  sort  of  a  noise  ! 
Not  unlike  a  cart's, — but  that  can't  be  ;  for  when 
Could  "  all  the  King's  horses,  and  all  the  King's  men, ' 
With  old  Nick  for  a  waggoner,  drive  one  up  "  PEN  } " 

Pryce,  usually  brimful  of  valour  when  drunk, 

Now  experienced  what  schoolboys  denominate  "  funk" 

In  vain  he  look'd  back    On  the  whole  of  the  track 
He  had  traversed ;  a  thick  cloud,  uncommonly  black, 
At  this  moment  obscured  the  broad  disc  of  the  moon, 
And  did  not  seem  likely  to  pass  away  soon  ; 

While  clearer  and  clearer,    Twas  plain  to  the  hearer, 
Be  the  noise  what  it  might,  it  grew  nearer  and  nearer, 
And  soundai,  as  Pryce  to  this  moment  declares, 
Very  much  "like  a  Coffin  a- walking  up-stairs." 

Mr.  Pryce  had  begun    To  "  make  up  "  for  a  run, 
As  in  such  a  companion  he  saw  no  great  fun. 

When  a  single  bright  ray    Shone  out  on  the  way 
He  had  pass'd,  and  he  saw,  with  no  little  dismay, 
Coming  after  him,  bounding  o'er  crag  and  o'er  rock, 
The  deceased  Mrs.  Winifred's  "  Grandmother's  Clock  '. ' 
'Twas  so  ! — it  had  certainly  moved  from  its  place, 
And  come  lumbering  on  thus,  to  hold  him  in  chase  ; 
'Twas  the  very  same  Head,  and  the  very  same  Case, 
And  nothing  was  altered  at  all — but  the  Face  ! 
In  that  he  perceived,  with  no  little  surprise, 
The  two  little  winder-holes  turned  into  eyes 

Blazing  with  ire,    Like  two  coals  of  fire ; 
And  the  "  Name  of  the  Maker  "  was  changed  to  a  Lip, 
And  the  Hands  to  a  Nose  with  a  very  red  tip. 
No ! — he  could  not  mistake  it, — 'twas  SHE  to  the  life ! 
The  identical  face  of  his  poor  defunct  wife  ! 

One  glance  was  enough,  Completely  "  Quant,  suff." 
As  the  doctors  write  down  when  they  send  you  their  "  stuff/ 
Like  a  Weather-cock  whirl'd  by  a  vehement  puff, 

David  turn'd  himself  round ;    Ten  feet  of  ground 
He  cleared,  in  his  start,  at  the  very  first  bound  1 

I've  seen  people  run  at  West-end  Fair  for  cheeses — 
I've  seen  ladies  run  at  Bow  Fair  for  chemises — 


"LOOK  AI  THE  CLOCK  I n  19 

At  Greenwich  Fair  twenty  men  run  for  a  hat, 

And  one  from  a  Bailiff  much  faster  than  that : 

At  foot-ball  I've  seen  lads  run  after  the  bladder— 

I've  seen  Irish  bricklayers  run  up  a  ladder — 

I've  seen  little  boys  run  away  from  a  cane — 

And  I've  seen  (that  is,  read  of)  good  running  in  Spain  ; 

But  I  never  did  read    Of,  or  witness,  such  speed 
As  David  exerted  that  evening. — Indeed, 
All  I  have  ever  heard  of  boys,  women,  or  men, 
Falls  far  short  of  Pryce,  as  he  ran  over  "  PEN  ! " 

He  reaches  its  brow, —    He  has  past  it,  and  now 
Having  once  gain'd  the  summit,  and  managed  to  cross  it,  he 
Rolls  down  the  side  with  uncommon  velocity ; 

But  run  as  he  will,    Or  roll  down  the  hill, 
The  bugbear  behind  him  is  after  him  still ! 
And  close  at  his  heels,  not  at  all  to  his  liking, 
The  terrible  clock  keeps  on  ticking  and  striking, 

Till  exhausted  and  sore,    He  can't  run  any  more, 
But  falls  as  he  reaches  Miss  Davis's  door, 
And  screams  when  they  rush  out,  alarm'd  at  his  knock, 
"  Oh  1  Look  at  the  Clock !— Do !— Look  at  the  Clock  ! !  " 
Miss  Davis  look'd  up,  Miss  Davis  look'd  down, 
She  saw  nothing  there  to  alarm  her  ; — a  frown 

Came  o'er  her  white  forehead  ;    She  said  "  it  was  horrid 
A  man  should  come  knocking  at  that  time  of  night, 
And  give  her  Mamma  and  herself  such  a  fright ; — 

To  squall  and  to  bawl    About  nothing  at  all ! " 
She  beggtt  "  he'd  not  think  of  repeating  his  call : 

His  late  wife's  disaster    By  no  means  had  past  her ; " 
She'd  "  have  him  to  know  she  was  meat  for  his  Master ! " 
Then  regardless  alike  of  his  love  and  his  woes, 
She  turn'd  on  her  heel  and  she  turn'd  up  her  nose. 

Poor  David  in  vain    Implored  to  remain ; 
He  "  dared  not,"  he  said,  "  cross  the  mountain  again." 

Why  the  fair  was  obdurate    None  knows, — to  be  sure,  it 
Was  said  she  was  setting  her  cap  at  the  Curate. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  the  sole  hole 
Pryce  found  to  creep  into  that  night  was  the  Coal-hole  ! 

In  that  shady  retreat,    With  nothing  to  eat, 
And  with  very  bruised  limbs,  and  with  very  sore  feet, 


20  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

All  night  close  he  kept ;    I  can't  say  he  slept ; 
But  he  sigh'd,  and  he  sobb'd,  and  he  groan'd,  and  he  wept  ; 

Lamenting  his  sins,    And  his  two  broken  shins, 
Bewailing  his  fate  with  contortions  and  grins, 
And  her  he  once  thought  a  complete  Rara  Avis, 
Consigning  to  Satan — viz.,  cruel  Miss  Davis ! 

Mr.  David  has  since  had  a  "  serious  call," 
He  never  drinks  ale,  wine,  or  spirits,  at  all, 
And  they  say  he  is  going  to  Exeter  Hall 

To  make  a  grand  speech,    And  to  preach  and  to  teach 
People  that  "  they  can't  brew  their  malt  liquor  too  small." 
That  an  ancient  Welsh  poet,  one  PYNDAR  AP  TUDOR, 
Was  right  in  proclaiming  "  ARISTON  MEN  UDOR  !  " 

Which  means  "  The  pure  Element 

Is  for  Man's  belly  meant !  " 
And  that  Gtin's  but  a  Snare  of  Old  Nick  the  deluder. 

And  "  still  on  each  evening  when  pleasure  fills  up," 
At  the  old  Goat-iri-Boots,  with  Metheglin,  each  cup, 

Mr.  Pryce,  if  he's  there,    Will  get  into  "  The  Chair " 
And  make  all  his  qiumdam,  associates  stare 
By  calling  aloud  to  the  Landlady's  daughter, 
"  Patty,  bring  a  cigar,  and  a  glass  of  Spring  Water  1 " 
The  dial  he  constantly  watches ;  and  when 
The  long  hand's  at  the  "  XII.,"  and  the  short  at  the  "  X.," 

He  gets  on  his  legs,    Drains  his  glass  to  the  dregs, 
Takes  his  hat  and  great-coat  off  their  several  pegs, 
With  his  President's  hammer  bestows  his  last  knock, 
And  says  solemnly —  "  Gentlemen, 

"  LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCK  ! ! ! " 


THERK  stands  a  City, — neither  large  nor  small,— 
Its  air  and  situation  sweet  and  pretty ; 

\t  matters  very  little — if  at  all — 
Whether  its  denizens  are  dull  or  witty, 


THE  GHOST. 

Whether  the  ladies  there  are  short  or  tall, 

Brunettes  or  blondes,  only,  there  stands  a  city  !— 
Perhaps  'tis  also  requisite  to  minute 
That  there's  a  Castle  and  a  Cobbler  in  it. 

A  fair  Cathedral,  too,  the  story  goes, 
And  kings  and  heroes  lie  entomb'd  within  her  ; 

There  pious  Saints  in  marble  pomp  repose, 
Whose  shrines  are  worn  by  knees  of  many  a  sinner ; 

There,  too,  full  many  an  Aldennanic  nose 
RoITd  its  loud  diapason  after  dinner  ; 

And  there  stood  high  the  holy  sconce  of  Becket, 

— Till  four  assassins  came  from  France  to  crack  it. 

The  Castle  was  a  huge  and  antique  mound, 
Proof  against  all  th'  artillery  of  the  quiver, 

Ere  those  abominable  guns  were  found, 
To  send  cold  lead  through  gallant  warrior's  liver. 

It  stands  upon  a  gently  rising  ground, 
Sloping  down  gradually  to  the  river, 

Resembling  (to  compare  great  things  with  smaller) 

A  well-scoop'd,  mouldy  Stilton  cheese — but  taller. 

The  Keep,  I  find,'s  been  sadly  alter'd  lately, 
And,  'stead  of  mail-clad  knights,  of  honour  jealous, 

In  martial  panoply  so  grand  and  stately, 
Its  walls  are  fill'd  with  money-making  fellows, 

And  stuffd,  unless  I'm  misinformed  greatly, 
With  leaden  pipes,  and  coke,  and  coals,  and  bellows  : 

In  short,  so  great  a  change  has  come  to  pass, 

'Tis  now  a  manufactory  of  Gas. 

But  to  my  tale. — Before  this  profanation, 

And  ere  its  ancient  glories  were  cut  short  all, 
A  poor,  hard-working  Cobbler  took  his  station 

In  a  small  house,  just  opposite  the  portal ; 
His  birth,  his  parentage,  and  education, 

I  know  but  little  of — a  strange,  odd  mortal ; 
His  aspect,  air,  and  gait,  were  all  ridiculous  ; 

His  name  was  Mason — he'd  been  christen'd  Nicholas. 

Nick  had  a  wife  possess'd  of  many  a  charm, 
And  of  the  Lady  Huntingdon  persuasion  ; 


I  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But,  spite  of  all  her  piety,  her  arm 
She'd  sometimes  exercise  when  in  a  passion  ; 

And,  being  of  a  temper  somewhat  warm, 
Would  now  and  then  seize,  upon  small  occasion, 

A  stick,  or  stool,  or  anything  that  round  did  lie, 

And  baste  her  lord  and  master  most  confoundedly. 

No  matter ! — 'tis  a  thing  that's  not  uncommon, 
Tis  what  we  all  have  heard,  and  most  have  read  of — 

I  mean,  a  bruising,  pugilistic  woman, 
Such  as  I  own  I  entertain  a  dread  of  ; 

— And  so  did  Nick,  whom  sometimes  there  would  come  on 
A  sort  of  fear  his  Spouse  might  knock  his  head  oft 

Demolish  half  his  teeth,  or  drive  a  rib  in, 

She  shone  so  much  in  "  facers  "  and  in  "  fibbing." 

"  There's  time  and  place  for  all  things,"  said  a  sage, 
(King  Solomon,  I  think,)  and  this  I  can  say, 

Within  a  well-roped  ring,  or  on  a  stage, 
Boxing  may  be  a  very  pretty  Fancy, 

When  Messrs.  Burke  or  Bendigo  engage  : 
— 'Tis  not  so  well  in  Susan,  Jane,  or  Nancy  : — 

To  get  well  mill'd  by  any  one's  an  evil, 

But  by  a  lady— 'tis  the  very  Devil 

And  so  thought  Nicholas,  whose  only  trouble 
(At  least  his  worst)  was  this  his  rib's  propensity  : 

For  sometimes  from  the  alehouse  he  would  hobble, 
His  senses  lost  in  a  sublime  immensity 

Of  cogitation — then  he  couldn't  cobble — 
And  then  his  wife  would  often  try  the  density 

Of  his  poor  skull,  and  strike  with  all  her  might, 

As  fast  as  kitchen-wenches  strike  a  light. 

Mason,  meek  soul,  who  ever  hated  strife, 
Of  this  same  striking  had  a  morbid  dread  ; 

He  hated  it  like  poison — or  his  wife — 
A  rast  antipathy  !— but  so  he  said— 

And  very  often,  for  a  quiet  life, 
On  these  occasions  he'd  sneak  up  to  bed, 

Grope  darkling  in,  and,  soon  as  at  the  door 

He  heard  his  lady— he'd  pretend  to  snore. 


THE  GHOST. 

One  night,  then,  ever  partial  to  society, 
Nick,  with  a  friend  (another  jovial  fellow), 

Went  to  a  club — I  should  have  said  Society— 
At  the  "  City  Arms,"  once  called  the  Porto  Bello  ; 

A  Spouting  party,  which,  though  some  decry  it,  I 
Consider  no  bad  lounge  when  one  is  mellow  : 

There  they  discuss  the  tax  on  salt  and  leather, 

And  change  of  ministers  and  change  of  weather. 

In  short,  it  was  a  kind  of  British  Forum, 
Like  John  Gale  Jones's,  erst  in  Piccadilly, 

Only  they  managed  things  with  more  decorum, 
And  the  orations  were  not  quite  so  silly ; 

Far  different  questions,  too,  would  come  before  'em 
Not  always  Politics,  which,  will  ye  nill  ye, 

Their  London  prototypes  were  always  willing 

To  give  one  quantum  suff.  of — for  a  shilling. 

It  more  resembled  one  of  later  date, 
And  ten-fold  talent,  as  I'm  told,  in  Bow-street, 

Where  kindlier-natured  souls  do  congregate  ; 
And,  though  there  are  who  deem  that  same  a  low  street 

Yet,  I'm  assured,  for  frolicsome  debate 
And  genuine  humour  it's  surpass'd  by  no  street, 

When  the  "  Chief  Baron  "  enters,  and  assumes 

To  "  rule  "  o'er  mimic  "  Thesigers  "  and  "  Broughams." 

Here  they  would  oft  forget  their  Rulers'  faults, 
And  waste  in  ancient  lore  the  midnight  taper ; 

Inquire  if  Orpheus  first  produced  the  Waltz, 
How  Gas-lights  differ  from  the  Delphic  Vapour, 

Whether  Hippocrates  gave  Glauber's  Salts, 
And  what  the  Romans  wrote  on  ere  they'd  paper — 

This  night  the  subject  of  their  disquisitions 

Was  Ghosts,  Hobgoblins,  Sprites,  and  Apparitions. 

One  learned  gentleman,  "  a  sage,  grave  man," 
Talk'd  of  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  "  sheath'd  in  steel  "— 

His  well-read  friend,  who  next  to  speak  began, 
Said,  "  That  was  Poetry,  and  nothing  real ; " 

A  third,  of  more  extensive  learning,  ran 
To  Sir  George  Villiera'  Ghost,  and  Mrs.  Veal ; 


\  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Of  sheeted  Spectres  spoke  with  shorten'd  breath, 
And  thrice  he  quoted  ''  Drelincourt  on  Death." 

Nick  smoked,  and  smoked,  and  trembled  as  he  heard 
The  point  discuss'd,  and  all  they  said  upon  it, 

How,  frequently,  some  murder'd  man  appeared, 
To  tell  his  wife  and  children  who  had  done  it ; 

Or  how  a  Miser's  ghost,  with  grizzly  beard, 
And  pale  lean  visage,  in  an  old  Scotch  bonnet, 

Wander'd  about,  to  watch  his  buried  money  ! 

When  all  at  once  Nick  heard  the  clock  strike  One, — he 

Sprang  from  his  seat,  not  doubting  but  a  lecture 
Impended  from  his  fond  and  faithful  She  ; 

Nor  could  he  well  to  pardon  him  expect  her, 
For  he  had  promised  to  "  be  home  to  tea  ; " 

But  having  luckily  the  key  o'  the  back  door, 
He  fondly  hoped  that,  unperceived,  he 

Might  creep  up-stairs  again,  pretend  to  doze, 

And  hoax  his  spouse  with  music  from  his  nose. 

Vain,  fruitless  hope  ! — the  wearied  sentinel 
At  eve  may  overlook  the  crouching  foe, 

Till,  ere  his  hand  can  sound  the  alarum-bell, 
He  sinks  beneath  the  unexpected  blow  ; 

Before  the  whiskers  of  Grimalkin  fell, 
When  slumb'ring  on  her  post,  the  mouse  may  go — 

But  woman,  wake .  al  woman,  's  never  weary, 

— Above  all,  when  she  waits  to  thump  her  deary. 

Soon  Mrs.  Mason  heard  the  well-known  tread ; 

She  heard  the  key  slow  creaking  in  the  door, 
Spied,  through  the  gloom  obscure,  towards  the  bed, 

Nick  creeping  soft,  as  oft  he  had  crept  before  ; 
When,  bang,  she  threw  a  something  at  his  head, 

And  Nick  at  once  lay  prostrate  on  the  floor  ; 
While  she  exclaim'd,  with  her  indignant  face  on — 
u  How  dare  you  use  your  wife  so,  Mr.  Mason  ? " 

Spare  we  to  tell  how  fiercely  she  debated, 

Especially  the  length  of  her  oration — 
Spare  we  to  tell  how  Nick  expostulated, 

Roused  by  the  bump  into  a  good  set  passion, 


THE  GHOST.  25 

So  great,  that  more  than  once  he  execrated, 

Ere  he  crawl'd  into  bed  in  his  usual  fashion  : 
— The  Muses  hate  brawls  ;  suffice  it  then  to  say, 
He  duck'd  below  the  clothes — and  there  he  lay  ! 

Twas  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 

When  churchyards  groan,  and  graves  give  up  their  dead, 
And  many  a  mischievous,  enfranchised  Sprite 

Had  long  since  burst  his  bonds  of  stone  or  lead, 
And  hurried  off  with  schoolboy-like  delight, 

To  play  his  pranks  near  some  poor  wretch's  bed, 
Sleeping,  perhaps  serenely  as  a  porpoise, 
Nor  dreaming 'of  this  fiendish  Habeas  Corpus. 

Not  so  our  Nicholas  :  his  meditations 
Still  to  the  same  tremendous  theme  recurr'd, 

The  same  dread  subject  of  the  dark  narrations, 
Which,  back'd  with  such  authority,  he'd  heard : 

Lost  in  his  own  horrific  contemplations, 
He  ponder'd  o'er  each  well-remember'd  word  ; 

When  at  the  bed's  foot,  close  beside  the  post, 

He  verily  believed  he  saw— a  Ghost ! 

Plain,  and  more  plain,  the  unsubstantial  Sprite 

To  his  astonish'd  gaze  each  moment  grew ; 
Ghastly  and  gaunt,  it  rear'd  its  shadowy  height, 

Of  more  than  mortal  seeming  to  the  view, 
And  round  its  long,  thin,  bony  fingers  drew 

A  tatter'd  winding-sheet,  of  course  all  white; — 
The  moon  that  moment  peeping  through  a  cloud, 
Nick  very  plainly  saw  it  through  the  shroud ! 

And  now  those  matted  locks,  which  never  yet 

Had  yielded  to  the  comb's  unkind  divorce, 
Their  long-contracted  amity  forget, 

And  spring  asunder  with  elastic  force  ; 
Nay,  e'en  the  very  cap,  of  texture  coarse, 

Whose  ruby  cincture  crown'd  that  brow  of  jet, 
Uprose  in  agony — the  Gorgon's  head 
Was  but  a  type  of  Nick's  up-squatting  in  the  bed. 

From  every  pore  distill'd  a  clammy  dew, 
Quaked  every  limb— the  candle,  too,  no  doubt, 


I  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

En  regie,  would  have  burnt  extremely  blue, 

But  Nick  unluckily  had  put  it  out ; 
And  he,  though  naturally  bold  and  stout, 

In  short,  was  in  a  most  tremendous  stew ; — 
The  room  was  fill'd  with  a  sulphureous  smell, 
But  where  that  came  from  Mason  could  not  telL 

All  motionless  the  Spectre  stood — and  now 
Its  reVrend  form  more  clearly  shone  confest ; 

From  the  pale  cheek  a  beard  of  purest  snow 
Descended  o'er  its  venerable  breast ; 

The  thin  grey  hairs,  that  crown'd  its  furrow'd  brow, 
Told  of  years  long  gone  by. — An  awful  guest 

It  stood,  and  with  an  action  of  command, 

Beckon'd  the  Cobbler  with  its  wan  right  hand. 

1  Whence,  and  what  art  thou,  Execrable  Shape  ? " 
Nick  might  have  cried,  could  he  have  found  a  tongue, 

But  his  distended  jaws  could  only  gape, 
And  not  a  sound  upon  the  welkin  rung  : 

His  gooseberry  orbs  seem'd  as  they  would  have  sprung 
Forth  from  their  sockets — like  a  frighten'd  Ape 

He  sat  upon  his  haunches,  bolt  upright, 

And  shook,  and  grinn'd,  and  chatter'd  with  affright 

And  still  the  shadowy  finger,  long  and  lean, 
Now  beckon'd  Nick,  now  pointed  to  the  door ; 

And  many  an  ireful  glance,  and  frown,  between, 
The  angry  visage  of  the  Phantom  wore, 

As  if  quite  vex*d  that  Nick  would  do  no  more 
Than  stare,  without  e'en  asking,  "  What  d'ye  mean  1 " 

Because,  as  we  are  told — a  sad  old  joke,  too — 

Ghosts,  like  the  ladies,  "  never  speak  till  spoke  to." 

Cowards,  'tis  said,  in  certain  situations. 

Derive  a  sort  of  courage  from  despair, 
And  then  perform,  from  downright  desperation, 

Much  more  than  many  a  bolder  man  would  dare. 
Nick  saw  the  Ghost  was  getting  in  a  passion, 

And  therefore,  groping  till  he  found  the  chair, 
Seized  on  his  awl,  crept  softly  out  of  bed, 
And  follow'd,  quaking,  where  the  Spectre  led. 


THE  GHOST.  27 

And  down  the  winding  stair,  with  noiseless  tread, 

The  tenant  of  the  tomb  pass'd  slowly  on, 
Each  mazy  turning  of  the  humble  shed 

Seem'd  to  his  step  at  once  familiar  grown  ; 
So  safe  and  sure  the  labyrinth  did  he  tread 

As  though  the  domicile  had  been  his  own, 
Though  Nick  himself,  in  passing  through  the  shop, 
Had  almost  broke  his  nose  against  the  mop. 

Despite  its  wooden  bolt,  with  jarring  sound, 

The  door  upon  its  hinges  open  flew ; 
And  forth  the  Spirit  issued — yet  around 

It  turn'd,  as  if  its  follower's  fears  it  knew, 
And,  once  more  beckoning,  pointed  to  the  mound, 

The  antique  Keep,  on  which  the  bright  moon  tin  %w 
With  such  effulgence  her  mild  silvery  gleam, 
The  visionary  form  seem'd  melting  in  her  beam. 

Beneath  a  pond'rous  archway's  sombre  shade, 
Where  once  the  huge  portcullis  swung  sublime, 

'Mid  ivied  battlements  in  ruin  laid, 
Sole,  sad  memorials  of  the  olden  time, 

The  Phantom  held  its  way — and  though  afraid 
Even  of  the  owls  that  sung  their  vesper  chime, 

Pale  Nicholas  pursued,  its  steps  attending, 

And  wondering  what  on  earth  it  all  would  end  in. 

Within  the  mouldering  fabric's  deep  recess, 

At  length  they  reach'd  a  court  obscure  and  lone- 
It  seem'd  a  drear  and  desolate  wilderness, 

The  blacken'd  walls  with  ivy  all  o'ergrown  ; 
The  night-bird  shriek'd  her  note  of  wild  distress, 

Disturb'd  upon  her  solitary  throne, 
As  though  indignant  mortal  step  should  dare, 
So  led,  at  such  an  hour,  to  venture  there  1 

— The  Apparition  paused,  and  would  have  spoke, 
Pointing  to  what  Nick  thought  an  iron  ring, 

But  then  a  neighbouring  chanticleer  awoke, 
And  loudly  'gan  his  early  matins  sing ; 

And  then  "  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing," 
As  that  shrill  clarion  the  silence  broke. 


J  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

— We  know  how  much  dead  gentlefolks  eschew 
The  appalling  sound  of  "  Cock-a-doodle-do ! " 

The  vision  was  no  more — and  Nick  alone — 
'*  His  streamers  waving  "  in  the  midnight  wind, 

Which  through  the  ruins  ceased  not  to  groan  ; 
— His  garment,  too,  was  somewhat  short  behind,— 

And,  worst  of  all,  he  knew  not  where  to  find 
The  ring, — which  made  him  most  his  fate  bemoan— 

The  iron-ring, — no  doubt  of  some  trap-door, 

'Neath  which  the  old  dead  Miser  kept  his  store. 

"  What's  to  be  done  1 "  he  cried  :  "  'Twere  vain  to  stay 

Here  in  the  dark  without  a  single  clue — 
Oh,  for  a  candle  now,  or  moonlight  ray  ! 

'Fore  George,  Fm  vastly  puzzled  what  to  do. " 
(Then  clapped  his  hand  behind) — "  'Tis  chilly,  too — 

I'll  mark  the  spot,  and  come  again  by  day. 
What  can  I  mark  it  by  1 — Oh,  here's  the  wall — 
The  mortar's  yielding — here  I'll  stick  my  awl ! " 

Then  rose  from  earth  to  sky  a  withering  shriek, 

A  loud,  a  long-protracted  note  of  woe, 
Such  as  when  tempests  roar,  and  timbers  creak, 

And  o'er  the  side  the  masts  in  thunder  go  ; 
While  on  the  deck  resistless  billows  break, 

And  drag  their  victims  to  the  gulfs  below  ; — 
Such  was  the  scream  when,  for  the  want  of  candle, 
Nick  Mason  drove  his  awl  in  up  to  the  handle. 

Scared  by  his  Lady's  heart-appalling  cry, 
Vanish'd  at  once  poor  Mason's  golden  dream — 

For  dream  it  was ; — and  all  his  visions  high, 
Of  wealth  and  grandeur,  fled  before  that  scream. — 

And  still  he  listens  with  averted  eye, 
When  gibing  neighbours  make  "  the  Ghost "  their  theme ; 

While  ever  from  that  hour  they  all  declare 

That  Mrs.  Mason  used  a  cushion  in  her  chair ! 


THE  CYNOTAPH, 


Cfte   Cpnotapft. 

Poor  Tray  charmant ! 
Poor  Tray  de  mon.  ami ! 

Dog-bury  and  Vergers. 

OH  !  where  shall  I  bury  my  poor  dog  Tray, 

Now  his  fleeting  breath  has  passed  away  \— 

Seventeen  years,  I  can  venture  to  say, 

Have  I  seen  him  gambol,  and  frolic,  and  play, 

Evermore  happy,  and  frisky,  and  gay, 

As  though  every  one  of  his  months  was  May, 

And  the  whole  of  his  life  one  long  holiday — 

Now  he's  a  lifeless  lump  of  clay, 

Oh !  where  shall  I  bury  my  faithful  Tray  ? 

I  am  almost  tempted  to  think  it  hard 

That  it  may  not  be  there,  in  yon  sunny  churchyard, 

Where  the  green  willows  wave    O'er  the  peaceful  grave, 
Which  holds  all  that  once  was  honest  and  brave, 
Kind,  and  courteous,  and  faithful,  and  true  ! 
Qualities,  Tray,  that  were  found  in  you. 
But  it  may  not  be — yon  sacred  ground 
By  holiest  feelings  fenced  around, 
May  ne'er  within  its  hallow'd  bound 
Receive  the  dust  of  a  soul-less  hound. 

I  would  not  place  him  in  yonder  fane, 
Where  the  mid-day  sun  through  the  storied  pane 
Throws  on  the  pavement  a  crimson  stain  ; 
Where  the  banners  of  chivalry  heavily  swing 
O'er  the  pinnacled  tomb  of  the  Warrior  King, 
With  helmet  and  shield,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

No ! — come  what  may,  My  gentle  Tray 
Shan't  be  an  intruder  on  bluff  Harry  Tudor, 
Or  panoplied  monarchs  yet  earlier  and  ruder 

Whom  you  see  on  their  backs,   In  stone  or  in  wax, 
Though  the  Sacristans  now  are  "  forbidden  to  ax  " 
For  what  Mr.  Hume  calls  "  a  scandalous  tax ;  " 
While  the  Chartists  insist  they've  a  right  to  go  snacks  — 
No  ! — Tray's  humble  tomb  would  look  but  shabby 
'Mid  the  sculptured  shrines  of  that  gorgeous  Abbey. 


30  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Besides,  in  the  place    They  say  there's  not  space 
To  bury  what  wet-nurses  call  "  a  Babby." 
Even  "  Rare  Ben  Jonson,"  that  famous  wight, 
I  am  told,  is  interr'd  there  bolt  upright, 
In  just  such  a  posture,  beneath  his  bust, 
As  Tray  used  to  sit  in  to  beg  for  a  crust 

The  epitaph,  too,    "Would  scarcely  do  : 
For  what  could  it  say,  but,  "  Here  lies  Tray, 
A  very  good  kind  of  a  dog  in  his  day  ! " 
And  satirical  folks  might  be  apt  to  imagine  it 
Meant  as  a  quiz  on  the  House  of  Plantagenet. 

No  !  no  ! — The  Abbey  may  do  very  well 

For  a  feudal  "  Nob,"  or  poetical  "  Swell," 

«  Crusaders,"  or  "  Poets,"  or  "  Knights  of  St.  John," 

Or  Knights  of  St.  John's  Wood,  who  once  went  on 

To  the  ©astlc  of  (.Gootic  ICottre  <£jjlintoune. 

Count  Fiddle-fumkin,  and  Lord  Fiddle-faddle, 

"  Sir  Craven,"  "  Sir  Gael,"  and  ".Sir  Campbell  of  Saddell," 

(Who,  as  poor  Hook  said,  when  he  heard  of  the  feat, 

"  Was  somehow  knock'd  out  of  his  family-seat ; ") 

The  Esquires  of  the  body   To  my  Lord  Tomnoddy ; 
"  Sir  Fairlie,""  Sir  Lamb," 
And  the  "  Knight  of  the  Earn," 
The  "  Knight  of  the  Rose,"  and  the  "  Knight  of  the  Dragon," 

Who,  save  at  the  flagon,    And  prog  in  the  wagon, 
The  newspapers  tell  us  did  little  "  to  brag  on ; " 

And  more,  though  the  Muse  knows  but  little  concerning  'em, 
"Sir  Hopkins,"  "Sir  Popkins,"  "Sir  Gage,"  and  "Sir  Jerning- 

ham," 

All  Preux  Chevaliers,  in  friendly  rivalry 
Who  should  best  bring  back  the  glory  of  Chi-valry. — 
— (Pray  be  so  good,  for  the  sake  of  my  song, 
To  pronounce  here  the  ante-penultimate  long ; 
Or  some  hyper-critic  will  certainly  cry, 
"  The  word  '  Chivalry '  is  but  a  rhyme  to  the  eye." 

And  I  own  it  is  clear    A  fastidious  ear 
Will  be,  more  or  less,  always  annoy'd  with  you  when  you 
Insert  any  rhyme  that's  not  perfectly  genuine. 

As  to  pleasing  the  "  eye,"    Tisn't  worth  while  to  try, 


THE  CYNOTAPff.  31 

Since  Moore  and  Toin  Campbell  themselves  admit  "  Spinach 

Is  perfectly  antiphonetic  to  Greenwich.") — 

But  stay  ! — I  say ! 

Let  me  pause  while  I  may — 

This  digression  is  leading  me  sadly  astray 

From  my  object — A  grave  for  my  poor  dog  Tray ! 

I  would  not  place  him  beneath  thy  walls, 
And  proud  o'ershadowing  dome,  St.  Paul's  ! 
Though  I've  always  consider^  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 
As  an  architect,  one  of  the  greatest  of  men  ; 
And,  talking  of  Epitaphs, — much  I  admire  his, 
"  Gircumspice,  si  Monumenlum  requiris ;  " 
Which  an  erudite  Verger  translated  to  me, 
"  If  you  ask  for  his  monument,  Sir-come-spy-see ! — " 

No ! — I  should  not  know  where    To  place  him  there ; 
I  would  not  have  him  by  surly  Johnson  be  ; — 
Or  that  queer-looking  horse  that  is  rolling  on  Ponsonby  ; — 

Or  those  ugly  minxes    The  sister  Sphynxes 
Mix'd  creatures,  half  lady,  half  lioness,  ergo, 
(Denon  says,)  the  emblems  of  Leo  and  Virgo  ; 
On  one  of  the  backs  of  which  singular  jumble, 
Sir  Ralph  Abercrombie  is  going  to  tumble, 
With  a  thump  which  alone  were  enough  to  despatch  him, 
If  the  Scotchman  in  front  shouldn't  happen  to  catch  him. 

No  !  I'd  not  have  him  there, — nor  nearer  the  door, 
Where  the  man  and  the  Angel  have  got  Sir  John  Moore, 
And  are  quietly  letting  him  down  through  the  floor, 
By  Gillespie,  the  one  who  escaped,  at  Vellore, 

Alone  from  the  row ; —  Neither  he  nor  Lord  Howe 
Would  like  to  be  plagued  with  a  little  Bow-wow. 

No,  Tray,  we  must  yield,    And  go  further  a-field  j 
To  lay  you  by  Nelson  were  downright  effront'ry ; 
— We'll  be  off  from  the  City,  and  look  at  the  country. 

It  shall  not  be  there,    In  that  sepulchred  square, 
Where  folks  are  interr'd  for  the  sake  of  the  air, 
(Though,  pay  but  the  dues,  they  could  hardly  refuse 
To  Tray  what  they  grant  to  Thuggs,  and  Hindoos, 
Turks,  Infidels,  Heretics,  Jumpers,  and  Jews,) 

Where  the  tombstones  are  placed   In  the  very  lest  taste, 


82  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

At  the  feet  and  the  head    Of  the  elegant  Dead, 
And  no  one's  received  who's  not  "  buried  in  lead  : " 
For,  there  lie  the  bones  of  Deputy  Jones, 
Whom  the  widow's  tears  and  the  orphan's  groans 
Affected  as  much  as  they  do  the  stones 
His  executors  laid  on  the  Deputy's  bones ; 

Little  rest,  poor  knave  !  Would  Tray  have  in  his  grave, 
Since  Spirits,  'tis  plain,    Are  sent  back  again, 
To  roam  round  their  bodies, — the  bad  ones  in  pain, — 
Dragging  after  them  sometimes  a  heavy  jack-chain  ; 
Whenever  they  met,  alarmed  by  its  groans,  his 
Ghost  all  night  long  would  be  barking  at  Jones's. 

Nor  shall  he  be  laid   By  that  cross  Old  Maid, 
Miss  Penelope  Bird, — of  whom  it  is  said 
All  the  dogs  in  the  parish  were  ever  afraid. 

He  must  not  be  placed   By  one  so  strait-laced 
In  her  temper,  her  taste,  her  morals,  and  waist. 
For  'tis  said,  when  she  went  up  to  Heaven,  and  St.  Peter, 

Who  happened  to  meet  her,    Came  forward  to  greet  her 
She  pursed  up  with  scorn  every  vinegar  feature, 
And  bade  him  "  Get  out  for  a  horrid  Male  Creature  I " 
So  the  Saint,  after  looking  as  if  he  could  eat  her, 
Not  knowing,  perhaps,  very  well  how  to  treat  her, 
And  not  being  willing, — or  able, — to  beat  her, 
Sent  her  back  to  her  grave  till  her  temper  grew  sweeter, 
With  an  epithet  which  I  decline  to  repeat  here. 

No, — if  Tray  were  interr'd    By  Penelupe  Bird, 
No  dog  would  be  e'er  so  be-"  whelp  "  'd  and  be-"  cur'Vd — 
All  the  night  long  her  cantankerous  Sprite 
Would  be  running  about  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Chasing  him  round,  and  attempting  to  lick 
The  ghost  of  poor  Tray  with  the  ghost  of  a  stick. 

Stay  . — let  me  see  1 —    Ay — here  it  shall  be 
At  the  root  of  this  gnarled  and  time-worn  tree, 

Where  Tray  and  I  Would  often  lie, 
And  watch  the  bright  clouds  as  they  floated  by 
In  the  broad  expanse  of  the  clear  blue  sky, 
When  the  sun  was  bidding  the  world  good-bye  ; 
And  the  plaintive  Nightingale,  warbling  nigh, 
Pour'd  forth  her  mournful  melody  ; 


LEGEND  OF  HAMILTON  TIOHE.  S3 

While  the  tender  Wood-pigeon's  cooing  cry 
Has  made  me  say  to  myself,  with  a  sigh, 
"  How  nice  you  would  eat  with  a  steak  in  a  pie ! " 
Ay,  here  it  shall  be ! — far,  far  from  the  view 
Of  the  noisy  world  and  its  maddening  crew. 

Simple  and  few,    Tender  and  true 
The  lines  o'er  his  grave. — They  have,  some  of  them,  too, 
The  advantage  of  being  remarkably  new. 

Epitaph. 

Affliction  sore    Long  time  he  bore, 
Physicians  were  in  vain ! — 

Grown  blind,  alas !  he'd    Some  Prussic  Acid, 
And  that  put  him  out  of  his  pain ! 


of  Hamilton 

THE  Captain  is  walking  his  quarter-deck, 
With  a  troubled  brow  and  a  bended  neck ; 
One  eye  is  down  through  the  hatchway  cast, 
The  other  turns  up  to  the  truck  on  the  mast, 
Yet  none  of  the  crew  may  venture  to  hint 
"  Our  Skipper  hath  gotten  a  sinister  squint ! " 

The  Captain  again  the  letter  hath  read 

Which  the  bum-boat  woman  brought  out  to  Spithead 

Still,  since  the  good  ship  sail'd  away, 

He  reads  that  letter  three  times  a-day ; 

Yet  the  writing  is  broad  and  fair  to  see 

As  a  Skipper  may  read,  in  his  degree, 

And  the  seal  is  as  black,  and  as  broad,  and  as  flat, 

As  his  own  cockade  in  his  own  cock'd  hat : 

He  reads,  and  he  says,  as  he  walks  to  and  fro, 

"  Curse  the  old  woman — she  bothers  me  so  J  * 

He  pauses  now,  for  the  topmen  hail — 

"  On  the  larboard  quarter  a  sail !  a  sail ! " 

That  grim  old  Captain  he  turns  him  quick, 

And  bawls  through  his  trumpet  for  Hairy-faced  Dick, 


34  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

"  The  breeze  is  blowing — huzza  !  huzza  I 

The  breeze  is  blowing — away  !  away ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — a  race !  a  race ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — we  near  the  chase ! 

Blood  will  flow,  and  bullets  will  fly, — 

Oh,  where  will  be  then  young  Hamilton  Tighe  t " 

— "  On  the  f  oeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be, 
With  a  sword  in  his  hand,  and  his  foe  at  his  knee. 
Cockswain,  or  boatswain,  or  reefer  may  try, 
But  the  first  man  on  board  will  be  Hamilton  Tighe ! " 

Hairy-faced  Dick  hath  a  swarthy  hue, 
Between  a  gingerbread-nut  and  a  Jew, 
And  his  pig-tail  is  long,  and  bushy,  and  thick, 
Like  a  pump-handle  stuck  on  the  end  of  a  stick. 
Hairy-faced  Dick  understands  his  trade ; 
He  stands  by  the  breech  of  a  long  carronade, 
The  linstock  glows  in  his  bony  hand, 
Waiting  that  grim  old  Skipper's  command. 

"  The  bullets  are  flying — huzza !  huzza ! 

The  bullets  are  flying — away  !  away ! " 

The  brawny  boarders  mount  by  the  chains, 

And  are  over  their  buckles  in  blood  and  in  brains  : 

On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be, 

Young  Hamilton  Tighe    Waves  his  cutlass  high, 
And  Capitaine  Crapaud  bends  low  at  his  knee. 

Hairy-faced  Dick,  linstock  in  hand, 

Is  waiting  that  grim-looking  Skipper's  command : — 

A  wink  comes  sly    From  that  sinister  eye — 
Hairy-faced  Dick  at  once  lets  fly, 
And  knocks  off  the  head  of  young  Hamilton  Tighe  ! 

There's  a  lady  sits  lonely  in  bower  and  hall, 

Her  pages  and  handmaidens  come  at  her  call ; 

"  Now,  haste  ye,  my  handmaidens,  haste  and  see 

How  he  sits  there  and  glow'rs  with  his  head  on  his  knee  1 ' 

The  maidens  smile,  and,  her  thought  to  destroy, 

They  bring  her  a  little,  pale,  mealy-faced  boy ; 

And  the  mealy-faced  boy  says,  "  Mother,  dear, 

Now  Hamilton's  dead,  I've  a  thousand  a-year  1 ' 


LEGEND  OF  HAMILTON  TI6HE. 

The  lady  has  donn'd  her  mantle  and  hood, 
She  is  bound  for  shrift  at  St.  Mary's  Hood  : — 

Oh !  the  taper  shall  burn,  and  the  bell  shall  toll 
And  the  mass  shall  be  said  for  my  step-son's  soul, 
And  the  tablet  fair  shall  be  hung  on  high, 
"  Orate  pro  animd  Hamilton  Tiglw" 

Her  coach  and  four    Draws  up  to  the  door, 
With  her  groom,  and  her  footman,  and  half-a  score  more ; 
The  lady  steps  into  her  coach  alone, 
They  hear  her  sigh,  and  they  hear  her  groan, 
They  close  the  door,  and  they  turn  the  pin, 
But  there's  One  rides  with  her  that  never  stept  in  1 
All  the  way  there,  and  all  the  way  back, 
The  harness  strains,  and  the  coach-springs  crack, 
The  horses  snort,  and  plunge,  and  kick. 
Till  the  coachman  thinks  he  is  driving  Old  Nick ; 
And  the  grooms  and  the  footmen  wonder,  and  say, 
"  What  makes  the  old  coach  so  heavy  to-day  ? " 
But  the  mealy-faced  boy  peeps  in  and  sees 
A  man  sitting  there  with  his  head  on  his  knees  ! 
'Tis  ever  the  same,— in  hall  or  in  bower, 
Wherever  the  place,  whatever  the  hour, 
That  lady  mutters,  and  talks  to  the  air, 
And  her  eye  is  fix'd  on  an  empty  chair  ; 
But  the  mealy -faced  boy  still  whispers  with  dread, 
u  She  talks  to  a  man  with  never  a  head ! " 


There's  an  old  Yellow  Admiral  living  at  Bath, 

As  grey  as  a  badger,  as  thin  as  a  lath ; 

And  his  very  queer  eyes  have  such  very  queer  leers, 

They  seem  to  be  trying  to  peep  at  his  ears. 

That  old  Yellow  Admiral  goes  to  the  Rooms, 

And  he  plays  long  whist,  but  he  frets  and  he  fumes, 

For  all  his  Knaves  stand  upside  down, 

And  the  Jack  of  Clubs  does  nothing  but  frown  ; 

And  the  Kings,  and  the  Aces,  and  all  the  best  trumps 

Get  into  the  hands  of  the  other  old  frumps  ; 

While,  close  to  his  partner,  a  man  he  sees 

Counting  the  tricks  with  his  head  on  his  knees. 


36  THE  INGOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

In  Ratcliffe  Highway  there's  an  old  marine  store, 

And  a  great  black  doll  hangs  out  of  the  door ; 

There  are  rusty  locks,  and  dusty  bags, 

And  musty  phials,  and  fusty  rags, 

And  a  lusty  old  woman,  call'd  Thirsty  Nan, 

And  her  crusty  old  husband's  a  Hairy-faced  man  f 

That  Hairy-faced  man  is  sallow  and  wan, 
And  his  great  thick  pigtail  is  wither'd  and  gone ; 
And  he  cries  "  Take  away  that  lubberly  chap 
That  sits  there  and  grins  with  his  head  in  his  lap ! " 
And  the  neighbours  say,  as  they  see  him  look  sick, 
"  What  a  rum  old  covey  is  Hairy-faced  Dick  ! " 

That  Admiral,  Lady,  and  Hairy-faced  man 

May  say  what  they  please,  and  may  do  what  they  can  ; 

But  one  thing  seems  remarkably  clear — 

They  may  die  to-morrow,  or  live  till  next  year, — 

But  wherever  they  live,  or  whenever  they  die, 

They'll  never  get  quit  of  young  Hamilton  Tighe  1 


Cfte 

[Scene,  the  "  Snuggery  "  at  Tappington — Grandpapa  in  a  high- 
backed  cane-bottomed  elbow-chair  of  carved  walnut-tree, 
dozing ;  his  nose  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees, — his 
thumbs  slowly  perform  the  rotatory  motion  described  by 
lexicographers  as  "  twiddling." — The  "  Hope  of  the 
family  "  astride  on  a  walking-stick,  with  burnt-cork  mus- 
tachios,  and  a  pheasant's  tail  pinned  in  his  cap,  solaceth 
himself  with  martial  music. — Roused  by  a  strain  of  sur- 
passing dissonance,  Grandpapa  loquitur.'] 

COME  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  boy  Ned  I 

Come  hither  unto  my  knee — 

I  cannot  away  with  that  horrible  din, 

'That  sixpenny  drum,  and  that  trumpet  of  tiu. 

Oh,  better  to  wander  frank  and  free, 

Through  the  Fair  of  good  Saint  Bartlemy« 

than  list  to  such  awful  minatreteii* 


THE  WITCHES'  FROLIC.  37 

Now  lay,  little  Ned,  those  nuisances  by, 
And  I'll  rede  ye  a  lay  of  Grammarye. 

[Grandpapa  riseth,  yawneth  like  the  crater  of  an  extinct  vol- 
cano, proceedeth  slowly  to  the  window,  and  apostrophiseth 
the  Abbey  in  the  distance.] 

I  love  thy  tower,  Gray  Ruin, 

I  joy  thy  form  to  see, 

Though  reft  of  all,    Cell,  cloister,  and  hall, 
Nothing  is  left  save  a  tottering  wall 
That,  awfully  grand  and  darkly  dull, 
Threaten'd  to  fall  and  demolish  my  skull, 
As,  ages  ago,  I  wander'd  along 
Careless  thy  grass-grown  courts  among, 
In  sky-blue  jacket,  and  trousers  laced, 
The  latter  uncommonly  short  in  the  waist. 
Thou  art  dearer  to  me,  thou  Ruin  gray, 
Than  the  Squire's  verandah  over  the  way  ; 
And  fairer,  I  ween,    The  ivy  sheen 

That  thy  mouldering  turret  binds, 
Than  the  Alderman's  house  about  half  a  mile  off, 

With  the  green  Venetian  blinds. 

Full  many  a  tale  would  my  Grandam  tell, 

In  many  a  bygone  day, 
Of  darksome  deeds,  which  of  old  befell, 

In  thee,  tnou  Ruin  gray ! 
And  I  the  readiest  ear  would  lend, 

And  stare  like  frighten'd  pig ! 
While  my  Grandfather's  hair  would  have  stood  up  on  end, 

Had  he  not  worn  a  wig. 

One  tale  I  remember  of  mickle  dread — 
Now  lithe  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned  ! 


Thou  mayest  have  read,  my  little  boy  Ned, 
Though  thy  mother  thine  idlesse  blames, 

In  Doctor  Goldsmith's  history  book, 
Of  a  gentleman  call'd  King  James, 

In  quilted  doublet,  and  great  trunk  breeches, 
held  in  abhorrence  Tobacco  and  Witches. 


8  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Well, — in  King  James's  golden  days, — 

For  the  days  were  golden  then, — 
They  could  not  be  less,  for  good  Queen  Bess 

Had  died,  aged  threescore  and  ten, 

And  her  days  we  know,    Were  all  of  them  so  : 
While  the  Court  poets  sung,  and  the  Court  gallants  swore. 
That  the  days  were  as  golden  still  as  before. 

Some  people,  'tis  true,  a  troublesome  few, 

Who  historical  points  would  unsettle, 
Have  lately  thrown  out  a  sort  of  a  doubt 

Of  the  genuine  ring  of  the  metal ; 
But  who  can  believe  to  a  monarch  so  wise 
People  would  dare  tell  a  parcel  of  lies  ! 

— Well,  then,  in  good  King  James's  days, — 

Golden  or  not  does  not  matter  a  jot, — 

Yon  Ruin  a  sort  of  a  roof  had  got ; 

For  though,  repairs  lacking,  its  walls  had  been  cracking 

Since  Harry  the  Eighth  sent  its  people  a-packing, 

Though  joists,  and  floors,    And  windows,  and  doors 
Had  all  disappear'd,  yet  pillars  by  scores 
Remain'd,  and  still  propp'd  up  a  ceiling  or  two, 
While  the  belfry  was  almost  as  good  as  new  ; 
You  are  not  to  suppose  matters  look'd  just  so 
In  the  Ruin  some  two  hundred  years  ago. 

Just  in  the  farthermost  angle,  where 

There  are  still  the  remains  of  a  winding-stair, 

One  turret  especially  high  in  air 

Uprear'd  its  tall  gaunt  form  ; 
As  if  defying  the  power  of  Fate,  or 
The  hand  of  "  Time  the  Innovator  ; " 

And  though  to  the  pitiless  storm 
Its  weaker  brethren  all  around 
Bowing,  in  ruin  had  strew'd  the  ground, 
Alone  it  stood,  while  its  fellows  lay  strew'd, 
Like  a  four-bottle  man  in  a  company  "  screw'd." 
Not  firm  on  his  legs,  but  by  no  means  subdued. 

One  night — 'twas  in  Sixteen  hundred  and  six, — 
I  like  when  I  can,  Ned,  the  date  to  fix, 


THE  WITCHES  FROLIC.  I 

The  month  was  May,    Though  I  can't  well  say 
At  this  distance  of  time  the  particular  day — 
But,  oh  !  that  night,  that  horrible  night ! 
— Folks  ever  afterwards  said  with  affright 
That  they  never  had  seen  such  a  terrible  sight 

The  Sun  had  gone  down  fiery  red ; 

And  if,  that  evening,  he  laid  his  head 

In  Thetis's  lap  beneath  the  seas, 

He  must  have  scalded  the  goddess's  knees. 

He  left  behind  him  a  lurid  track 

Of  blood-red  light  upon  clouds  so  black, 

That  Warren  and  Hunt,  with  the  whole  of  their  crew, 

Could  scarcely  have  given  them  a  darker  hue. 

There  came  a  shrill  and  a  whistling  sound, 
Above,  beneath,  beside,  and  around, 

Yet  leaf  ne'er  moved  on  tree ! 
So  that  some  people  thought  old  Beelzebub  must 
Have  been  lock'd  out-of-doors,  and  was  blowing  the  dust 
From  the  pipe  of  his  street-door  key. 
And  then  a  hollow  moaning  blast 
Came,  sounding  more  dismally  still  than  the  last, 
And  the  lightning  flash'd,  and  the  thunder  growl'd, 
And  louder  and  louder  the  tempest  howl'd, 
And  the  rain  came  down  in  such  sheets  as  would  stagger  a 
Bard  for  a  simile  short  of  Niagara. 

Rob  Gilpin  "  was  a  citizen  ; " 

But  though  of  some  "  renown," 
Of  no  great  "credit "  in  his  own 

Or  any  other  town. 

He  was  a  wild  and  roving  lad, 

For  ever  in  the  alehouse  boozing ; 
Or  romping, — which  is  quite  as  bad, — 

With  female  friends  of  his  own  choosing. 

And  Rob  this  very  day  had  made, 
Not  dreaming  such  a  storm  was  brewing, 

An  assignation  with  Miss  Blade, — 
Their  trysting-place  that  same  gray  Ruin. 


10  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But  Gertrude  Slade  became  afraid, 
And  to  keep  her  appointment  unwilling, 

When  she  spied  the  rain  on  her  window-pane 
In  drops  as  big  as  a  shilling  ; 

She  put  off  her  hat  and  her  mantle  again, 

"  He'll  never  expect  me  in  all  this  rain  ! " 

But  little  he  recks  of  the  fears  of  the  sex, 

Or  that  maiden  false  to  her  tryst  could  be. 
He  had  stood  there  a  good  half  hour, 
Ere  yet  had  commenced  that  perilous  shower, 
Alone  by  the  trysting-tree  ! 

Robin  looks  east,  Robin  looks  west, 

But  he  sees  not  her  whom  he  loves  the  best ; 

Robin  looks  up,  and  Robin  looks  down, 

But  no  one  comes  from  the  neighbouring  towu. 

The  storm  came  at  last, — loud  roar'd  the  blast, 
And  the  shades  of  evening  fell  thick  and  fast ; 
The  tempest  grew  ;  and  the  straggling  yew, 
His  leafy  umbrella,  was  wet  through  and  throug}* 
Rob  was  half  dead  with  cold  and  with  fright, 
When  he  spies  in  the  Ruins  a  twinkling  light — 
A  hop,  two  skips,  and  a  jump,  and  straight 
Rob  stands  within  that  postern  gate. 

And  there  were  gossips  sitting  there, 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three  : 
Two  were  an  old  ill-favour'd  pair  : 
But  the  third  was  young,  and  passing  fair, 

With  laughing  eyes,  and  with  coal-black  hair  ; 
A  daintie  quean  was  she ! 

Rob  would  have  given  his  ears  to  sip 

But  a  single  salute  from  her  cherry  lip. 

As  they  sat  in  that  old  and  haunted  room, 
In  each  one's  hand  was  a  huge  birch  broom, 
On  each  one's  head  was  a  steeple-crown'd  hat. 
On  each  one's  knee  was  a  coal-black  cat : 
Each  had  a  kirtle  of  Lincoln  green  — 
It  was,  I  trow,  a  fearsome  scene. 


THE   WITCHES'  FROLIC.  41 

Now  riddle  me,  riddle  me,  right,  Madge  Gray, 
What  fool  unhallow'd  wends  this  way  1 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  areed  me  right, 
Who  roams  the  old  Ruins  this  drearysome  night  ? 

Then  up  and  spake  that  sonsie  quean, 

And  she  spake  both  loud  and  clear  : 
"  Oh,  be  it  for  weal,  or  be  it  for  woe, 
Enter  friend,  or  enter  foe, 

Rob  Gilpin  is  welcome  here  ! — 

"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  !  a  hall !  a  hall ! 
Now  tread  we  a  measure,"  quoth  she — 

The  heart  of  Robin    Beat  thick  and  throbbing-  - 
"  Roving  Rob,  tread  a  measure  with  me  ! " 
"  Ay,  lassie  ! "  quoth  Rob,  as  her  hand  he  gripes, 
"  Though  Satan  himself  were  blowing  the  pipes  !  " 

Now  around  they  go,  and  around,  and  around, 

With  hop-skip-and-jump,  and  frolicsome  bound, 

Such  sailing  and  gliding,    Such  sinking  and  sliding, 
Such  lofty  curvetting,     And  grand  pirouetting  ; 

Ned,  you  would  swear  that  Monsieur  Gilbert 

And  Miss  Taglioni  were  capering  there  ! 

And,  oh !  such  awful  music  !  ne'er 

Fell  sounds  so  uncanny  on  mortal  ear, 

There  were  the  tones  of  a  dying  man's  groans 

Mix'd  with  the  rattling  of  dead  men's  bones  : 

Had  you  heard  the  shrieks,  and  the  squeals,  and  the  squeaks 

You'd  not  have  forgotten  the  sound  for  weeks. 

And  around,  and  around,  and  around  they  go, 

Heel  to  heel,  and  toe  to  toe, 

Prance  and  caper,  curvet  and  wheel, 

Toe  to  toe,  and  heel  to  heel. 

"  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  Cummers,  I  trow, 

To  dance  thus  beneath  the  night  shade  bough ! — 

"  Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  riddle  me  right, 
Where  may  we  sup  this  frolicsome  night  1 " 

"  Mine  host  of  the  Dragon  hath  mutton  and  veal  ! 
The  Squire  hath  partridge,  and  widgeon  and  teal  ! 

B* 


42  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But  old  Sir  Thopas  hath  daintier  cheer, 
A  pasty  made  of  the  good  red  deer, 
A  huge  grouse  pie,  and  a  fine  Florentine, 
A  fat  roast  goose,  and  a  turkey  and  chine. ' 

— "  Madge  Gray,  Madge  Gray, 

Now  tell  me,  I  pray, 

Where's  the  best  wassail  bowl  to  our  roundelay  1  * 

— "  There  is  ale  in  the  cellars  of  Tappington  Hall, 
But  the  Squire  is  a  churl,  and  his  drink  is  small ; 

Mine  host  of  the  Dragon    Hath  many  a  flagon 
Of  double  ale,  lambs'  wool,  and  eau  de  viet 

But  Sir  Thopas,  the  Vicar,    Hath  costlier  liquor,- • 
A  butt  of  the  choicest  Malvoisie. 

He  doth  not  lack    Canary  or  sack ; 
And  a  good  pint  stoup  of  Clary  wine 
Smacks  merrily  off  with  a  turkey  and  chine !  " 

M  Now  away  !  and  away !  without  delay, 
Hey  Cockalorum  !  my  Broomstick  gay  ! 
We  must  be  back  ere  the  dawn  of  the  day  : 
Hey  up  the  chimney  !  away !  away  !  " — 

Old  Goody  Price    Mounts  in  a  trice, 
In  showing  her  legs  she  is  not  over  nice  ; 

Old  Goody  Jones,    AH  skin  and  bones, 
Follows  "  like  winking." — Away  go  the  crones, 
Knees  and  nose  in  a  line  with  the  toes, 
Sitting  their  brooms  like  so  many  Ducrows  j 

Latest  and  last    The  damsel  pass'd, 
One  glance  of  her  coal-black  eye  she  cast ; 
She  laughed  with  glee  loud  laughters  three. 
"  Dost  fear,  Rob  Gilpin,  to  ride  with  me  T'~ 
Oh,  never  might  man  unscath'd  espy 
One  single  glance  from  that  coal-black  eye. 

— Away  she  flew  ! —    Without  more  ado 
Rob  seizes  and  mounts  on  a  broomstick  too, 
"  Hey !  up  the  chimney,  lass !    Hey,  after  you  ! " 

It's  a  very  fine  thing,  on  a  fine  day  in  June, 
To  ride  through  the  air  in  a  Nassau  Balloon  ; 
But  you'll  find  very  soon,  if  you  aim  at  the  Moon,. 
In  a  carriage  like  that,  you're  a  bit  of  a  "  Spoon," 


THE  WITCHES'  FROLIC.  4 

For  the  largest  can't  fly    Above  twenty  miles  high, 
And  you're  not  half  way  then  on  your  journey,  nor  nigh  ; 

While  no  man  alive    Could  ever  contrive, 
Mr.  Green  has  declared,  to  get  higher  than  five. 
And  the  soundest  Philosophers  hold  that,  perhaps, 
If  you  reach'd  twenty  miles  your  balloon  would  collapse, 

Or  pass  by  such  action    The  sphere  of  attraction, 
Getting  into  the  track  of  some  comet — Good-lack  ! 
'Tis  a  thousand  to  one  that  you'd  never  come  back ; 
And  the  boldest  of  mortals  a  danger  like  that  must  fear, 
Eashly  protruding  beyond  our  own  atmosphere. 

No,  no  ;  when  I  try    A  trip  to  the  sky, 
I  shan't  go  in  that  thing  of  yours,  Mr.  Gye, 
Though  Messieurs  Monck  Mason,  and  Spencer,  and  Beazly 
All  join  in  saying  it  travels  so  easily. 

No ;  there's  nothing  so  good    As  a  pony  of  wood — 
Not  like  that  which,  of  late,  they  stuck  up  on  the  gate 
At  the  end  of  the  Park,  which  caused  so  much  debate, 
And  gave  so  much  trouble  to  make  it  stand  straight, — 
But  a  regular  Broomstick—  you'll  find  that  the  favourite — 
Above  all,  when,  like  Robin,  you  haven't  to  pay  for  it. 

— Stay — really  I  dread —    I  am  losing  the  thread 
Of  my  tale ;  and  it's  time  you  should  be  in  your  bed, 
So  lithe  now,  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 


The  Vicarage  walls  are  lofty  and  thick, 

And  the  copings  are  stone,  and  the  sides  are  brick ; 

The  casements  are  narrow,  and  bolted,  and  barr'd, 

And  the  stout  oak  door  is  heavy  and  hard ; 

Moreover,  by  way  of  additional  guard, 

A  great  big  dog  runs  loose  in  the  yard, 

And  a  horse-shoe  is  nail'd  on  the  threshold  sill, — 

To  keep  out  aught  that  savours  of  ill, — 

But  alack  !  the  chimney-pot's  open  still ! 

— That  great  big  dog  begins  to  quail, 

Between  his  hind-legs  he  drops  his  tail. 

Crouch'd  on  the  ground  the  terrified  hound 

Gives  vent  to  a  very  odd  sort  of  a  sound  : 

It  is  not  a  bark,  loud,  open,  and  free, 

As  an  honest  old  watch-dog's  bark  should  be  ; 


44  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

It  is  not  a  yelp,  it  is  not  a  growl, 
But  a  something  between  a  whine  and  a  howl, 
And,  hark  ! — a  sound  from  the  window  high 
Responds  to  the  watch-dog's  pitiful  cry  : 
It  is  not  a  moan,    It  is  not  a  groan  : 
It  comes  from  a  nose, — but  is  not  what  a  nose 
Produces  in  healthy  and  sound  repose. 
Yet  Sir  Thopas  the  Vicar  is  fast  asleep, 
And  his  respirations  are  heavy  and  deep  ! 

He  snores,  'tis  true,  but  he  snores  no  more 
As  he's  aye  been  accustom'd  to  snore  before, 
And  as  men  of  his  kidney  are  wont  to  snore  ; — 
(Sir  Thopas's  weight  is  sixteen  stone  four  ;) 
He  draws  his  breath  like  a  man  distress'd 
By  pain  or  grief,  or  like  one  oppress'd 
By  some  ugly  old  Incubus  perch 'd  on  his  breast 
A  something  seems    To  disturb  his  dreams, 
And  thrice  on  his  ear,  distinct  and  clear, 
Falls  a  voice  as  of  somebody  whispering  near 
In  still  small  accents,  faint  and  few, 
**  Hey  down  the  chimney-pot ! — Hey  after  you !  " 

Throughout  the  Vicarage,  near  and  far, 
There  is  no  lack  of  bolt  or  of  bar  ; 

There  are  plenty  of  locks    To  closet  and  box, 
Yet  the  pantry  wicket  is  standing  ajar  ! 
And  the  little  low  door,  through  which  you  must  go, 
Down  some  half-dozen  steps  to  the  cellar  below, 
Is  also  unfasten'd,  though  no  one  may  know, 
By  so  much  as  a  guess,  how  it  comes  to  be  so  ; 

For  wicket  and  door,    The  evening  before, 
Were  both  of  them  lock'd,  and  the  key  safely  placed 
On  the  bunch  that  hangs  down  from  the  Housekeeper's  waist 

Oh,  'twas  a  jovial  sight  to  view 

In  that  snug  little  cellar  that  frolicsome  crew  . — 

Old  Goody  Price    Had  got  something  nice, 
A  turkey-poult  larded  with  bacon  and  spice  ; — 

Old  Goody  Jones    Would  touch  nought  that  had  bones. 
She  might  just  as  well  mumble  a  parcel  of  stones. 
Goody  Jones,  in  sooth,  had  got  never  a  tooth, 


THE  WITCHES  FROLIC.  48 

And  a  New-College  pudding  of  marrow  and  plums 
Is  the  dish  of  all  others  that  suiteth  her  gums. 

Madge  Gray  was  picking    The  breast  of  a  chicken, 
Her  coal-black  eye,  with  its  glance  so  sly, 
Was  fix'd  on  Rob  Gilpin  himself,  sitting  by 
With  his  heart  full  of  love,  and  his  mouth  full  of  pie  ; 

Grouse  pie,  with  hare    In  the  middle,  is  fare 
Which,  duly  concocted  with  science  and  care, 
Doctor  Kitchener  says,  is  beyond  all  compare  ; 

And  a  tenderer  leveret    Robin  had  never  ate  : 
So,  in  after  times,  oft  he  was  wont  to  asseverate. 

"  Now  pledge  we  the  wine-cup ! — a  health ! — a  health  1 

Sweet  are  the  pleasures  obtain'd  by  stealth  ! 

Fill  up  !  fill  up  1 — the  brim  of  the  cup 

Is  the  part  that  aye  holdeth  the  toothsomest  sup  ! 

Here's  to  thee,  Goody  Price  ! — Goody  Jones,  to  thee ! — 

To  thee,  Roving  Rob  !  and  again  to  me  1 

Many  a  sip,  never  a  slip 

Come  to  us  four  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip  ! " 

The  cups  pass  quick,    The  toasts  fly  thick, 
Rob  tries  in  vain  out  their  meaning  to  pick, 
But  hears  the  words  "  Scratch,"  and  "Old  Bogey,"  and  "Nick." 

More  familiar  grown,    Now  he  stands  up  alone, 
Volunteering  to  give  them  a  toast  of  his  own. 

"  A  bumper  of  wine  !    Fill  thine  1    Fill  mine ! 
Here's  a  health  to  old  Noah  who  planted  the  Vine  1 " 

Oh,  then  what  sneezing,    What  coughing  and  wheo.zing 
Ensued  in  a  way  that  was  not  over  pleasing  ; 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Jones,  and  the  pretty  Madge  Gray, 
All  seem'd  as  their  liq'ior  had  gone  the  wrong  way. 

But  the  best  of  the  joke  was,  the  moment  he  spoke 
Those  words  which  the  party  seeui'd  almost  to  choke, 
As  by  mentioning  Noah  some  spell  had  been  broke, 
Every  soul  in  the  house  at  that  instant  awoke  1 
And,  hearing  the  din  from  barrel  and  binn, 
Drew  at  once  the  conclusion  that  thieves  had  got  in. 
Up  jump'd  the  Cook  and  caught  hold  of  her  spit ; 
Up  jump'd  the  Groom  and  took  bridle  and  bit ; 


46  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Up  jump'd  the  Gardener  and  shoulder'd  his  spade ; 

Up  jump'd  the  Scullion, — the  Footman, — the  Maid  ;  . 

(The  two  last,  by  the  way,  occasion'd  some  scandal, 

By  appearing  together  with  only  one  candle, 

Which  gave  for  unpleasant  surmises  some  handle  ;) 

Up  jump'd  the  Swineherd, — and  up  jump'd  the  big  boy, 

A  nondescript  under  him,  acting  as  Pig-boy  ; 

Butler,  Housekeeper,  Coachman — from  bottom  to  top 

Everybody  jump'd  up  without  parley  or  stop, 

With  the  weapon  which  first  in  their  way  chance  to  drop, — 

Whip,  warming-pan,  wig-block,  mug,  musket,  and  mop. 

Last  of  all  doth  appear,    With  some  symptoms  of  fear, 

Sir  Thopas  in  person  to  bring  up  the  rear, 

In  a  mix'd  kind  of  costume  half  Pontificalibtts, 

Half  what  scholars  denominate  Pure  Naturalibuaj 

Nay,  the  truth  to  express,    As  you'll  easily  guess, 
They  have  none  of  them  time  to  attend  much  to  dress ; 

But  He,  or  She,    As  the  case  may  be, 
He  or  She  seizes  what  He  or  She  pleases, 
Trunk-hosen  or  kirtles,  and  shirts  or  chemises, 
And  thus  one  and  all,  great  and  small,  short  and  tall, 
Muster  at  once  in  the  Vicarage  hall, 
With  upstanding  locks,  starting  eyes,  shorten 'd  breath, 
Like  the  folks  in  the  Gallery  Scene  in  Macbeth, 
When  Macduff  is  announcing  their  Sovereign's  death. 
And  hark  ! — what  accents  clear  and  strong, 
To  the  listening  throng  came  floating  along ! 
T  is  Robin  encoring  himself  in  a  song— 

"  Very  good  song !  very  well  sung ! 

Jolly  companions  every  one ! " 

On,  on  to  the  cellar !  away !  away  ! 
On,  on  to  the  cellar  without  more  delay ! 
The  whole  posse  rush  onwards  in  battle-array — 
Conceive  the  dismay  of  the  party  so  gay, 
Old  Goody  Jones,  Goody  Price,  and  Madge  Gray, 
When  the  door  bursting  wide,  they  descried  the  allied 
Troops,  prepared  for  the  onslaught,  roll  in  like  a  tide. 
And  the  spits,  and  the  tongs,  and  the  pokers  beside  ! — 
w  Boot  and  saddle's    the    word !    mount,    Cummers,    and 
ride ! " 


THE  WITCHES'  FROLIC.  47 

Alarm  was  ne'er  caused  more  strong  and  indigenoui 
By  cat  among  rats,  or  a  hawk  in  a  pigeon-house  ; 

Quick  from  the  view    Away  they  all  flew, 
With  a  yell,  and  a  screech,  and  a  halliballoo, 

Hey  up  the  chimney !    Hey  after  you ! " 
The  Volscians  themselves  made  an  exit  less  speedy 
From  Corioli,  "  flutter'd  like  doves  "  by  Macready. 

They  are  gone — save  one,    Robin  alone ! 
Robin,  whose  high  state  of  civilisation 
Precludes  all  idea  of  aerostation  ; 

And  who  now  has  no  notion    Of  more  locomotion 
Than  suffices  to  kick,  with  much  zeal  and  devotion, 
Right  and  left  at  the  party,  who  pounced  on  their  victim, 
And  maul'd  him,  and  kick'd  him,  and  lick'd  him,  and  prick'd 

him, 

As  they  bore  him  away  scarce  aware  what  was  done, 
And  believing  it  all  but  a  part  of  the  fun, 
Hie — hiccoughing  out  the  same  strain  he'd  begun, 
"  Jol — jolly  companions  every  one ! " 

*  *  #  *  * 

Morning  grey    Scarce  bursts  into  day 
Ere  at  Tappington  Hall  there's  the  deuce  to  pay  j 
The  tables  and  chairs  are  all  placed  in  array 
In  the  old  oak-parlour,  and  in  and  out 
Domestics  and  neighbours,  a  motley  rout, 
Are  walking,  and  whispering,  and  standing  about ; 

And  the  Squire  is  there    In  his  large  arm-chair, 
Leaning  back  with  a  grave  magisterial  air  ; 

In  the  front  of  a  seat  a    Huge  volume,  called  Fleta, 
And  Bracton,  a  tome  of  an  old-fashioned  look, 
And  Coke  upon  Lyttelton,  then  a  new  book  ; 

And  he  moistens  his  lips  With  occasional  sips 
From  a  luscious  sack-posset  that  smiles  in  a  tankard 
Close  by  on  a  side-table — not  that  he  drank  hard, 

But  because  at  that  day,    I  hardly  need  say, 
The  Hong  Merchants  had  not  yet  invented  How  Qua ; 
Nor  as  yet  would  you  see  Souchong  or  Bohea 
At  the  tables  of  persons  of  any  degree  : 
How  our  ancestors  managed  to  do  without  tea 
I  must  fairly  confess  is  a  mystery  to  me  ; 


48  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Yet  your  Lydgates  and  Chaucers 

Had  no  cups  and  saucers ; 

Their  breakfast,  in  fact,  and  the  best  they  could  get, 
Was  a  sort  of  a  dejeuner  a  la  foiirchette  ; 

Instead  of  our  slops    They  had  cutlets  and  chops, 
And  sack-possets,  and  ale  in  stoups,  tankards,  and  pots ; 
And  they  wound  up  the  meal  with  rumpsteaks  and  'schalots. 

Now  the  Squire  lifts  his  hand    With  an  air  of  command, 
And  gives  them  a  sign,  which  they  all  understand, 
To  bring  in  the  culprit ;  and  straightway  the  carter 
And  huntsman  drag  in  that  unfortunate  martyr, 
Still  kicking,  and  crying,  "  Come, — what  are  you  arter  1  " 
The  charge  is  prepared,  and  the  evidence  clear, 
"  He  was  caught  in  the  cellar  a-drinking  the  beer 
And  came  there,  there's  very  great  reason  to  fear, 
With  companions, — to  say  but  the  least  of  them, — queer, 

Such  as  Witches,  and  creatures    With  horrible  features, 

And  horrible  grins,    And  hook'd  noses  and  chins,. 
Who'd  been  playing  the  deuce  with  his  Reverence's  binns." 
The  face  of  his  worship  grows  graver  and  graver, 
As  the  parties  detail  Robiu's  shameful  behaviour ; 
Mister  Buzzard,  the  clerk,  while  the  tale  is  reciting, 
Sits  down  to  reduce  the  affair  into  writing, 

With  all  proper  diction,    And  due  "  legal  fiction  : " 
Viz. :  "  That  he,  the  said  prisoner,  as  clearly  was  shown, 
Conspiring  with  folks  to  deponents  unknown, 
With  divers,  that  is  to  say,  two  thousand  people, 
In  two  thousand  hats,  each  hat  peak'd  like  a  steeple, 

With  force  and  with  arms,  And  with  sorcery  and  charms, 

Upon  two  thousand  brooms ; 

Enter'd  four  thousand  rooms, 

To  wit,  two  thousand  pantries,  and  two  thousand  cellars, 
Put  in  bodily  fear  twenty  thousand  in-dwellers, 
And  with  sundry—  that  is  to  say,  two  thousand — forks, 
Drew  divers — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — corks, 
And,  with  malice  prepense,  down  their  two  thousand  throttles 
Emptied  various — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — bottles  ; 
All  in  breach  of  the  peace, — moved  by  Satan's  malignity — 
And  in  spite  of    King  James,  and    his    Crown,  and   his 

Dignity." 


THE   WITCHES'  FROLIC.  49 

At  words  so  profound    Rob  gazes  around, 
But  no  glance  sympathetic  to  cheer  him  is  found. 

— No  glance,  did  I  say  1    Yes,  one  1 — Madge  Gray ! — 
She  is  there  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  standing  by, 
And  she  gives  him  one  glance  from  her  coal-black  eye, 
One  touch  to  his  hand,  and  one  word  to  his  ear, — 
(That's  a  line  which  I've  stolen  from  Sir  Walter,  I  fear,)— 

While  nobody  near    Seems  to  see  her  or  hear  : 
As  his  worship  takes  up,  and  surveys,  with  a  strict  eye, 
The  broom  now  produced  as  the  corpus  delicti, 

Ere  his  fingers  can  clasp,    It  is  snatched  from  his  grasp, 
The  end  poked  in  his  chest  with  a  force  makes  him  gasp, 
And,  despite  the  decorum  so  due  to  the  Quorum, 
His  worship's  upset,  and  so  too  is  his  jorum  ; 
And  Madge  is  astride  on  the  broomstick  before  'em. 
"  Hocus  Pocus !  Quick,  Presto!  and  Hey  Cockalorum  I 
Mount,  mount  for  your  life,  Rob  ! — Sir  Justice,  adieu ! — 
— Hey  up  the  chimney-pot !  hey  after  you  1 " 

Through  the  mystified  group, 

With  a  halloo  and  a  whoop, 
Madge  on  the  pommel,  and  Robin  en  croupe^ 
The  pair  through  the  air  ride  as  if  in  a  chair, 
While  the  party  below  stand  mouth  open  and  stare  ; 
"  Clean  bumbaized  "  and  amazed,  and  fix'd,  all  the  room  stick, 
"  Oh  !    what's   gone    with    Robin, — and  Madge, — and   the 

broomstick  1 " 

Ay,  "  what's  gone  "  indeed,  Ned  1 — of  what  befell 
Madge  Gray,  and  the  broomstick,  I  never  heard  tell  : 
But  Robin  was  found,  that  morn,  on  the  ground, 
In  yon  old  grey  Ruin  again,  safe  and  sound 
Except  that  at  first  he  complain'd  much  of  thirst, 
And  a  shocking  bad  headache,  of  all  ills  the  worst, 

And  close  by  his  knee    A  flask  you  might  sec, 
But  an  empty  one,  smelling  of  eau  de  vie. 

Rob  from  this  hour  is  an  alter'd  man ; 

He  runs  home  to  his  lodgings  as  fast  as  he  can, 

Sticks  to  his  trade,    Marries  Miss  Slade, 
Becomes  a  Tee-totaller — that  is  the  same 
As  Tee-totallers  now,  one  in  all  but  the  name  ; 


50  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Grows  fond  of  Small-beer,  which  is  always  a  steady  sign, 
Never  drinks  spirits  except  as  a  medicine ; 

Learns  to  despise    Coal-black  eyes, 
Minds  pretty  girls  no  more  than  so  many  Guys ; 
Has  a  family,  lives  to  be  sixty,  and  dies ! 

Now,  my  little  boy  Ned,    Brush  off  to  your  bed, 
Tie  your  nightcap  on  safe,  or  a  napkin  instead, 
Or  these  terrible  nights,  you'll  catch  cold  in  your  head. 
And  remember  my  tale,  and  the  moral  it  teaches, 
Which  you'll  find  much  the  same  as  what  Solomon  preaches : 
Don't  flirt  with  young  ladies  !  don't  practice  soft  speeches  ; 
Avoid   waltzes,   quadrilles,  pumps,    silk   hose,    and  knee- 
breeches  ; — 

Frequent  not  grey  Ruins, — shun  riot  and  revelry, 
Hocus  Pocus,  and  Conjuring,  and  all  sorts  of  devilry  ; — 
Don't     meddle    with     broomsticks, — they're     Beelzebub's 

switches, 

Of  cellars  keep  clear, — they're  the  devil's  own  ditches  ; 
And  beware  of  balls,  banquetings,  brandy,  and — witches  ! 
Above  all !  don't  run  after  black  eyes ! — if  you  do, — 
Depend  on't  you'll  find  what  I  say  will  come  true, — 
Old  Nick,  some  fine  morning,  will  "  hey  after  you !" 


Jarbfcato  of 

THE  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair 

Bishop  and  abbot  and  prior  were  there ; 

Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar, 

Many  a  knight,  and  many  a  squire, 

With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree, — 

In  sooth  a  goodly  company  ; 

And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on  bended  knee. 

Never,  I  ween,  Was  a  prouder  seen, 
Bead  of  in  books,  or  dreamt  of  in  dreams, 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheim.3. ! 

In  and  out    Through  the  motley  rout, 
That  little  Jackdaw  kept  hopping  about ; 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RE  El  MS.  51 

Here  and  there    Like  a  dog  in  a  fair, 

Over  comfits  and  cakes,    And  dishes  and  plates, 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall, 
Mitre  and  crosier  !  he  hopp'd  upon  all  ! 

With  saucy  air,    He  perched  on  the  chair 
Where,  in  state,  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  sat 
In  the  great  Lord  Cardinal's  great  red  hat ; 

And  he  peer'd  in  the  face    Of  his  Lordship's  Gram, 
With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would  say, 
"  We  two  are  the  greatest  folks  here  to-day ! " 

And  the  priests,  with  awe,    As  such  freaks  they  saw, 
Said,  "  The  Devil  must  be  in  that  little  Jackdaw  ! " 

The  feast  was  over,  the  board  was  clear'd, 
The  flawns  and  the  custards  had  all  disappear'd, 
And  six  little  Singing -boys, — dear  little  souls ! 
In  nice  clean  faces,  and  nice  white  stoles, 

Came,  in  order  due,    Two  by  two, 
Marching  that  grand  refectory  through ! 
A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer, 
Emboss'd  and  fill'd  with  water,  as  pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  Namur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy  stood  ready  to  catch 
In  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to  match. 
Two  nice  little  boys,  rather  more  grown, 
Carried  lavender-water,  and  eau  de  Cologne  ; 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soap, 
Worthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 

One  little  boy  more    A  napkin  bore, 
Of  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with  pink, 
And  a  Cardinal's  Hat  mark'd  in  "permanent  ink." 

The  great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the  sight 
Of  these  nice  little  boys  dress'd  all  in  white  : 

From  his  finger  he  draws    His  costly  turquoise  , 
And,  not  thinking  at  all  about  little  Jackdaws, 

Deposits  it  straight    By  the  side  of  his  plate, 
While  the  nice  little  boys  on  his  Eminence  wait ; 
Till,  when  nobody's  dreaming  of  any  such  thing, 
That  little  Jackdaw  hops  off  with  the  ring .' 


B2  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

There's  a  cry  and  a  shout,    And  a  deuce  of  a  rout. 
And  nobody  seems  to  know  what  they're  about, 
But  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all  turn'd  inside  out  : 

The  friars  are  kneeling,    And  hunting,  and  feeling 
The  carpet,  the  floor,  and  the  walls,  and  the  ceiling. 

The  Cardinal  drew    Off  each  plum-colour'd  shoe, 
And  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to  the  view ; 

He  peeps,  and  he  feels    In  the  toes  and  the  heels  ; 
They  turn  up  the  dishes, — they  turn  up  the  plates, — 
They  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out  the  grates, 

— They  turn  up  the  rugs,    They  examine  the  mugs  :— 

But,  no  1 — no  such  thing  ; —    They  can't  find  THE  RINO 
And  the  Abbot  declared  that,  "  when  nobody  twiggM  it, 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popp'd  in,  and  prigg'd  it ! " 

The  Cardinal  rose  with  a  dignified  look, 

He  call'd  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and  his  book  ! 

In  holy  anger,  and  pious  grief, 

He  solemnly  cursed  that  rascally  thief! 

He  cursed  him  at  board,  he  cursed  him  in  bed ; 

From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head ; 
He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every  night 
He  should  dream  of  the  devil,  and  wake  in  a  fright ; 
He  cursed  him  in  eating,  he  cursed  him  in  drinking, 
He  cursed  him  in  coughing,  in  sneezing,  in  winking  : 
He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing,  in  lying ; 
He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding,  in  flying, 
He  cursed  him  in  living,  he  cursed  him  dying  ! — 
Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse ! 

But  what  gave  rise    To  no  little  surprise, 
Nobody  seem'd  one  penny  the  worse ! 

The  day  was  gone,    The  night  came  on, 
The  Monks  and  the  Friars  they  search'd  till  dawn  ; 

When  the  Sacristan  saw,    On  crumpled  claw, 
Came  limping  a  poor  little  lame  Jackdaw  ? 

No  longer  gay,    As  on  yesterday  ; 
His  feathers  all  seem'd  to  be  turn'd  the  wrong  way  ;— 
His  pinions  droop'd — he  could  hardly  stand, — 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  palm  of  your  hand ; 

His  eye  so  Him,    So  wasted  each  limb, 
That,  heprlless  of  grammar,  they  all  cried,  "  THAT'S  HIM  : — 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS. 

That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this  scandalous  thing  ! 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lord  Cardinal's  ring  1 " 

The  poor  little  Jackdaw,    When  the  monks  he  saw, 
Feebly  gave  vent  to  the  ghost  of  a  caw ; 
And  turn'd  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way  ! " 

Slower  and  slower    He  limp'd  on  before, 
Till  they  came  to  the  back  of  the  belfry  door. 

When  the  first  thing  they  saw, 

Midst  the  sticks  and  the  straw, 
Was  the  RING  in  the  nest  of  that  little  Jackdaw  ! 

Then  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  call'd  for  his  book, 
And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took  ; 

The  mute  expression    Served  in  lieu  of  confession, 
And,  being  thus  coupled  with  full  restitution, 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution  1 

— When  those  words  were  heard,    That  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  'twas  really  absurd, 

He  grew  sleek,  and  fat ;    In  addition  to  that, 
A  fresh  crop  of  feathers  came  thick  as  a  mat ! 

His  tail  waggled  more    Even  than  before  ; 
But  no  longer  it  wagg'd  with  an  impudent  air, 
No  longer  he  perch'd  on  the  Cardinal's  chair. 

He  hopp'd  now  about    With  a  gait  devout ; 
At  Matins,  at  Vespers,  he  never  was  out ; 
And,  so  far  from  any  more  pilfering  deeds, 
He  always  seem'd  telling  the  Confessor's  beads. 
If  any  one  lied, — or  if  any  one  swore, — 
Or  slumber'd  in  prayer-time  and  happen'd  to  snore, 

That  good  Jackdaw    Would  give  a  great  " Caw.' 
As  much  as  to  say,  "Don't  do  so  any  more  1 " 

While  many  remark' d,  as  his  manners  they  saw, 
That  they  "  never  had  known  such  a  pious  Jackdaw  ! " 

He  long  lived  the  pride    Of  that  country  side, 
And  at  last  in  the  odour  of  sanctity  died  ; 

When,  as  words  were  too  faint,    His  merits  to  paint. 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him  a  Saint ! 
And  on  newly-made  Saints  and  Popes,  as  you  know. 
It's  the  custom,  at  Rome,  new  names  to  bestow, 
So  they  canonised  him  by  the  name  of  Jim  Crow  ! 


THE  IHGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


of 

ST.  DUNSTAN  stood  in  his  ivied  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  were  there ; 
When  in  came  Nick  to  play  him  a  trick, 

In  guise  of  a  damsel  passing  fair. 

Every  one  knows    How  the  story  goes  : 
He  took  up  the  tongs  and  caught  hold  of  his  nose. 
But  I  beg  that  you  wont  for  a  moment  suppose 
That  I  mean  to  go  through,  in  detail,  to  you 
A  story  at  least  as  trite  as  it's  true ! 

Nor  do  I  intend    An  instant  to  spend 
On  the  tale,  how  he  treated  his  monarch  and  friend. 
When  bolting  away  to  a  chamber  remote, 
Inconceivably  bored  by  his  Witen-gemote, 

Edwy  left  them  all  joking,    And  drinking,  and  smoking 
So  tipsily  grand,  they'd  stand  nonsense  from  no  King, 

But  sent  the  Archbishop    Their  Sovereign  to  fish  up, 
With  a  hint  that  perchance  on  his  crown  he  might  feel  taps 
Unless  he  came  back  straight  and  took  off  his  heel-taps. 
You  must  not  be  plagued  with  the  same  story  twice, 
And  perhaps  have  seen  this  one  by  W.  DTCE, 
At  the  Royal  Academy,  very  well  done, 
And  mark'd  in  the  catalogue  Four,  seven,  ona 

You  might  there  view  the  Saint,  who  in  sable  array'd  is, 
Coercing  the  Monarch  away  from  the  Ladies ; 
His  right  hand  has  hold  of  his  Majesty's  jerkin, 
His  left  shows  the  door,  and  he  seems  to  say,  "  Sir  King, 
Your  most  faithful  Commons  won't  hear  of  your  shirking  ! 
Quit  your  tea,  and  return  to  your  Barclai  and  Perkyn, 
Or,  by  Jingo,  ere  morning,  no  longer  alive,  a 
Sad  victim  you'll  lie  to  your  love  for  Elgiva  ! " 

No  farther  to  treat    Of  this  ungallant  feat, 
What  I  mean  to  do  now  is  succinctly  to  paint 
One  particular  fact  in  the  life  of  the  Saint, 
Which,  somehow,  for  want  of  due  care,  I  presume 
Has  escaped  the  researches  of  Rapin  and  Hume, 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  M 

In  recounting  a  miracle,  both  of  them  men,  who  a 
Great  deal  fall  short  of  Jacques,  Bishop  of  Genoa, 
An  Historian  who  likes  deeds  like  these  to  record — 
See  his  Aurea  Legenda,  by  ffiSRunfepn  ttc  SiKortrc. 

St.  Dunstan  stood  again  in  his  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  complete  ; 
He  had  been  standing  a  good  half-hour, 
And  now  he  utter'd  the  words  of  power, 

And  call'd  to  his  Broomstick  to  bring  him  a  seat 

The  words  of  power ! — and  what  be  they 

To  which  e'en  Broomsticks  bow  and  obey  ? 

Why, — 'twere  uncommonly  hard  to  say, 

As  the  prelate  I  named  has  recorded  none  of  them, 

What  they  may  be,    But  I  know  they  are  three, 
And  ABRACADABRA,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  them, 
For  I'm  told  that  most  Cabalists  use  that  identical 
Word,  written  thus,  in  what  they  call  a  "  Pentacle." 


However  that  be,    You'll  doubtless  agree 
It  signifies  little  to  you  or  to  me, 
Ag  not  being  dabblers  in  Grammarye ; 
-Still,  it  must  be  confesa'd,  for  a  Saint  to  repeat 
•Such  language  aloud  is  icarcely  discreet ; 


66  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

For,  as  Solomon  hints  to  folks  given  to  chatter, 
M  A  bird  of  the  air  may  carry  the  matter ; " 

And  in  sooth,    From  my  youth,    I  remember  a  truth 
Insisted  on  much  in  my  earlier  years, 
To  wit,  "  Little  Pitchers  have  very  long  ears  ! " 
Now,  just  such  a  "  Pitcher  "  as  those  I  allude  to 
Was  outside  the  door,  which  his  "  ears  "  appear'd  glued  to. 

Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 

Five  feet  one  in  his  sandal  shoon, 
While  the  Saint  thought  him  sleeping, 
Was  listening  and  peeping, 

And  watching  his  master  the  whole  afternoon. 

This  Peter  the  Saint  had  picked  out  from  his  fellows, 
To  look  to  his  fire,  and  to  blow  with  the  bellows, 
To  put  on  the  Wall's-Ends  and  Lambtons  whenever  he 
Chose  to  indulge  in  a  little  orfevrerie; 

— Of  course  you  have  read,    That  St.  Dunstan  was  bred 
A  Goldsmith,  and  never  quite  gave  up  the  trade ! 
The  Company — richest  in  London,  'tis  said — 
Acknowledged  him  still  as  their  Patron  and  Head  ; 

Nor  is  it  so  long    Since  a  capital  song 
In  his  praise — now  recorded  their  archives  among— 
Delighted  the  noble  and  dignified  throng 
Of  their  guests,  who,  the  newspapers  told  the  whole  town, 
With  cheers  "  pledged  the  wine  cup  to  Dunstan's  renown," 
When    Lord  Lyndhurst,  THE  DUKE,  and   Sir  Robert,  were 

dining 

At  the  Hall  some  time  since  with  the  Prime  Warden  Twin- 
ing.— 

— I  am  sadly  digressing — a  fault  which  sometimes 
One  can  hardly  avoid  in  these  gossiping  rhymes — 
A  slight  deviation's  forgiven  1  but  then  this  is 
Too  long,  I  fear,  for  a  decent  parenthesis, 
So  I'll  rein  up  my  Pegasus  sharp,  and  retreat,  or 
You'll  think  I've  forgotten  the  Lay-brother  Peter, 

Whom  the  Saint,  as  I  said,    Kept  to  turn  down  his  bed, 
Dress  his  palfreys  and  cobs,    And  do  other  odd  jobs,— 
As  reducing  to  writing    Whatever  he  might,  in 
The  course  of  the  day  or  the  night,  be  inditing, 
.And  cleaning  the  plate  of  his  mitre  with  whiting ; 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   DUNSTAA  67 

Performing,  in  short,  all  those  duties  and  offices 
Abbots  exact  from  Lay-brothers  and  Novices. 

It  occurs  to  me  here    You'll  perhaps  think  it  queer 
That  St.  Duns  tan  should  have  such  a  personage  near, 

When  he'd  only  to  say, 

Those  words, — be  what  they  may, — 
And  his  Broomstick  at  once  his  commands  would  obey. — 

That's  true — but  the  fact  is    'Twas  rarely  his  practice 
Such  aid  to  resort  to,  or  such  means  apply, 
Unless  he'd  some  "  dignified  knot "  to  untie, 
Adopting,  though  sometimes,  as  now,  he'd  reverse  it, 
Old  Horace's  maxim  "  nee  Broomstick  intersit" — 
— Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 
Heard  all  the  Saint  was  saying  within  ; 
Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  sallow  and  spare, 
Peep'd  through  the  key-hole,  and — what  saw  he  there  ? — 
Why, — A  BROOMSTICK  BRINGING  A  RUSH-BOTTOM'D  CHAIR. 

What  Shakspeare  observes,  in  his  play  of  King  John, 
Is  undoubtedly  right,    That  "  ofttimes  the  sight 
Of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  will  make  ill  deeds  done." 
Here's  Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  pale-faced  and  meagre, 
A  good  sort  of  man,  only  rather  too  eager 
To  listen  to  what  other  people  are  saying 
When  he  ought  to  be  minding  his  business  or  praying, 
Gets  into  a  scrape, — and  an  awkward  one,  too, — 
As  you'll  find,  if  you've  patience  enough  to  go  through 

The  whole  of  the  story    I'm  laying  before  ye, — 
Entirely  from  having  "  the  means  "  in  his  view 
Of  doing  a  thing  which  he  ought  not  to  do ! 

Still  rings  in  his  ear,    Distinct  and  clear, 
Abracadabra !  that  word  of  fear ! 
And  the  two  which  I  never  yet  happen'd  to  hear. 

Still  doth  he  spy,    With  Fancy's  eye, 
The  Broomstick  at  work,  and  the  Saint  standing  by  ; 
And  he  chuckles,  and  says  to  himself,  with  glee, 
"  Aha  !  that  Broomstick  shall  work  for  me  f  " 

Hark !— that  swell    O'er  flood  and  o'er  fell, 
Mountain,  and  dingle,  and  moss-cover'd  dell ! 


58  THE  INQOLDkBY  LEGENDS. 

List ! — 'tis  the  sound  of  the  Compline  bell : 
And  St.  Dunstan  is  quitting  his  ivied  cell  ; 

Peter,  I  wot,    Is  off  like  a  shot, 
Or  a  little  dog  scalded  by  something  that's  hot, 
For  he  hears  his  Master  approaching  the  spot 
Where  he'd  listen'd  so  long,  though  he  knew  he  ought  not : 
Peter  remembered  hig  Master's  frown- 
He  trembled — he'd  not  have  been  caught  for  a  crown ; 

Howe'er  you  may  laugh    He'd  rather,  by  half, 
Have  run  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower  and  jump'd  down. 


The  Compline  hour  is  past  and  gone, 
Evening  service  is  over  and  done  ! 

The  monks  repair    To  their  frugal  fare, 
A  snug  little  supper  of  something  light 
And  digestible,  ere  they  retire  for  the  night. 
For,  in  Saxon  times,  in  respect  of  their  cheer, 
St.  Austin's  rule  was  by  no  means  severe, 
But  allow'd,  from  the  Beverley  Eoll  'twould  appear, 
Bread  and  cheese,  and  spring  onions,  and  sound  table-beer, 
And  even  green  peas  when  they  were  not  too  dear  ; 
Not  like  the  Rule  of  La  Trappe,  whose  chief  merit  is 
Said  to  consist  in  its  greater  austerities ; 
And  whose  monks,  if  I  rightly  remember  their  laws, 

Ne'er  are  suffer'd  to  speak,    Think  only  in  Greek, 
And  subsist,  as  the  Bears  do,  by  sucking  their  paws. 

Astonish'd  I  am    The  gay  Baron  Geramb, 
With  his  head  savVing  more  of  the  Lion  than  Lamb, 
Could  e'er  be  persuaded  to  join  such  a  set — I 
Extend  the  remark  to  Signer  Ambrogetti. — 
For  a'monk  offLa  Trappe  is  as  thin  as  a  rat, 
While  an  Austin  Friar  was  jolly  and  fat ; 
Though,  of  course,  the  fare  to  which  I  allude. 
With  as  good  table-beer  as  ever  was  breVd, 
Was  all  "  caviare  to  the  multitude," 
Extending  alone  to  the  clergy,  together  in 
Hall  assembled,  and  not  to  Lay-brethren. 
St.  Dunstan  himself  sits  there  at  his  post, 

On  what  they  say  is    Called  a  Dais, 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUN  STAN.  39 

O'erlooking  the  whole  of  his  clerical  host, 

And  eating  poach'd  eggs  with  spinach  and  toast ; 

Five  Lay-brothers  stand  behind  his  chair, 

But  where  is  the  sixth  1— where's  Peter  ?— Ay,  WHEKE 1 

'Tis  an  evening  in  June,    And  a  little  half -moon, 
A  brighter  no  fond  lover  ever  set  eyes  on, 

Gleaming  and  beaming,    And  dancing  the  stream  in, 
Has  made  her  appearance  above  the  horizon  ; 
Just  such  a  half -moon  as  you  see,  in  a  play, 
On  the  turban  of  Mustapha  Muley  Bey, 
Or  the  fair  Turk  who  weds  with  the  "  Noble  Lord  Bateman ; '' 
—  Vide  plate  in  George  Cruikshank's  memoirs  of  that  great 
man. 

She  shines  on  a  turret  remote  and  lone, 

A  turret  with  ivy  and  moss  overgrown, 

And  lichens  that  thrive  on  the  cold  dank  stone  ; 

Such  a  tower  as  a  poet  of  no  mean  calibre 

I  once  knew  and  loved,  poor,  dear  Reginald  Heber, 

Assigns  to  oblivion — a  den  for  a  She  bear  ; 

Within  it  are  found,    Strew'd  above  and  around, 
On  the  hearth,  on  the  table,  the  shelves,  and  the  ground, 
All  sorts  of  instruments,  all  sorts  of  tools, 
To  name  which,  and  their  uses,  would  puzzle  the  Schools, 
And  make  very  wise  people  look  very  like  fools  : 

Pincers  and  hooks,    And  black-letter  books, 
All  sorts  of  pokers  and  all  sorts  of  tongs, 
And  all  sorts  of  hammers,  and  all  that  belongs 
To  Goldsmiths'  work,  chemistry,  alchymy, — all, 

In  short,  that  a  Sage,    In  that  erudite  age, 
Could  require,  was  at  hand,  or  at  least  within  call 
In  the  midst  of  the  room  lies  a  Broomstick  ! — and  there 
A  Lay-brother  sits  in  a  rush-bottom'd  chair  ! 

Abracadabra,  that  fearful  word, 

And  the  two  which,  I  said,  I  have  never  yet  heard, 

Are  utter'd. — 'Tis  done !    Peter,  full  of  his  fun, 
Cries,  "  Broomstick  !  you  lubberly  son  of  a  gun  ! 
Bring  ale  ! — bring  a  flagon — a  hogshead — a  tun  ! 

'Tis  the  same  thing  to  you  ;    I  have  nothing  to  do  : 
And,  'fore  George,  I'll  sit  here,  and  I'll  drink  till  all's  blue  ! 


60  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

No  doubt  you've  remark'd  how  uncommonly  quick 

A  Newfoundland  puppy  runs  after  a  stick, 

Brings  it  back  lo  his  master,  and  gives  it  him — Well, 

So  potent  the  spell, 

The  Broomstick  perceived  it  was  vain  to  rebel, 
So  ran  off  like  that  puppy  ;—  some  cellar  was  near, 
For  in  less  than  ten  seconds  'twas  back  with  the  beer  ! 
Peter  seizes  the  flagon  ;  but  ere  he  can  suck 
Its  contents,  or  enjoy  what  he  thinks  his  good  luck, 
The  Broomstick  comes  in  with  a  tub  in  a  truck  ; 

Continues  to  run    At  the  rate  it  begun, 
And,  au  pied  de  lettre,  next  brings  in  a  tun  ! 
A  fresh  one  succeeds,  then  a  third,  then  another, 
Discomfiting  much  the  astounded  Lay-brother  ; 
Who,  had  he  possess'd  fifty  pitchers  or  stoops, 
They  all  had  been  too  few  ;  for,  arranging  in  groups, 
The  barrels,  the  Broomstick  next  started  the  hoops  : 

The  ale  deluged  the  floor,    But,  still,  through  the  door 
Said  Broomstick  kept  bolting,  and  bringing  in  more. 

Even  Macbeth  to  Macduff 

Would  have  cried  "  Hold  !  enough !  " 
If  half  as  well  drench'd  with  such  "  perilous  stuff." 
And  Peter,  who  did  not  expect  such  a  rotigh  visit, 
Cried  lustily, "  Stop  !— that  will  do,  Broomstick  I— Sufficil '.  " 

But  ah,  well-a-day !    The  Devil,  they  say, 
Tis  easier  at  all  times  to  raise  than  to  lay. 

Again  and  again    Peter  roared  out  in  vain 
His  Abracadabra,  and  t'other  words  twain  : — 

As  well  might  one  try    A  pack  in  full  cry 
To  check,  and  call  off  from  their  headlong  career, 
By  bawling  out  "  Yoicks ! "  with  one's  hand  at  one's  ear. 
The  longer  he  roar'd,  and  the  louder  and  quicker, 
The  faster  the  Broomstick  was  bringing  in  liquor. 

The  poor  Lay-brother  knew    Not  on  earth  what  to  do — 
He  caught  hold  of  the  Broomstick  and  snapt  it  in  two. — 

Worse  and  worse ! — Like  a  dart,    Each  part  made  a  start, 
And  he  found  he'd  been  adding  more  fuel  to  fire, 
For  both  now  came  loaded  with  Meux's  entire ; 
Combe's,  Delafield's,  Hanbury's,  Truman's — no  stopping — 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   DUNSTAN.  61 

Coding's,  Charrington's,  Whitbread's  continued  to  drop  in, 
With  Hodson's  pale  ale,  from  the  Sun  Brewhouse,  Wapping. 
The  firms  differ'd  then,  but  I  can't  put  a  tax  on 
My  memory  to  say  what  their  names  were  in  Saxon. 
To  be  sure  the  best  beer    Of  all  did  not  appear, 
For  I've  said  'twas  in  June,  and  so  late  in  the  year 
The  "  Trinity  Audit  Ale  "  is  not  come-at-able, 
As  I've  found  to  my  great  grief  when  dining  at  that  table. 

Now  extremely  alarm'd,  Peter  scream'd  without  ceasing, 
For  a  flood  of  brown  stout  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in. 
Which,  thanks  to  the  Broomstick,  continued  increasing ; 

He  fear'd  he'd  be  drown'd,    And  he  yell'd  till  the  sound 
Of  his  voice,  wing'd  by  terror,  at  last  reach'd  the  ear 
Of  St.  Dunstan  himself,  who  had  finish'd  his  beer, 
And  had  put  off  his  mitre,  dalmatic,  and  shoes, 
And  was  just  stepping  into  his  bed  for  a  snooze. 

His  Holiness  paused  when  he  heard  such  a  clatter ; 

He  could  not  conceive  what  on  earth  was  the  matter. 

Slipping  on  a  few  things,  for  the  sake  of  decorum, 

He  issued  forthwith  from  his  Sanctum  sanctorum, 

And  calling  a  few  of  the  Lay-brothers  near  him, 

Who  were  not  yet  in  bed,  and  who  happen'd  to  hear  him, 

At  once  led  the  way,    Without  further  delay, 
To  the  tower,  where  he'd  been  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Poor  Peter ! — alas  !  though  St.  Dunstan  was  quick, 

There  were   two  there  before  him — Grim    Death,  and  Old 

Nick  !— 

When  they  open'd  the  door  out  the  malt  liquor  flow'd, 
Just  as  when  the  great  Vat  burst  in  Tott'n'am  Court  Road ; 
The  Lay-brothers  nearest  were  up  to  their  necks 
In  an  instant,  and  swimming  in  strong  double  X  ; 
While  Peter,  who,  spite  of  himself  now  had  drank  hard, 
After  floating  awhile,  like  a  toast  in  a  tankard, 

To  the  bottom  had  sunk,  and  was  spied  by  a  monk, 
Stone-dead,  like  poor  Clarence,  half  drown'd  and  half  drunk 
In  vain  did  St.  Dunstan  exclaim,  "  Vade  retro 
Strongleerum  I — diecedc  a  Lay-fratre  Petro  I " — 

Que«r  Latin,  you'll  soy,    That  prefix  of  "Lav" 


62  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  Strongleerum ! — I  own  they'd  have  called  me  a  block- 
head if 

At  school  I  had  ventured  to  use  such  a  Vocative ; 
'Tis  a  barbarous  word,  and  to  me  it's  a  query 
If  you'll  find  it  in  Patrick,  Morell,  or  Moreri ; 
But,  the  fact  is,  the  Saint  was  uncommonly  flurried, 
And  apt  to  be  loose  in  his  Latin  when  hurried  ; 
The  brown-stout,  however,  obeys  to  the  letter, 
Quite  as  well  as  if  talk'd  to  in  Latin  much  better, 

By  a  grave  Cambridge  Johnian,    Or  graver  Oxonian 
Whose  language,  we  all  know,  is  quite  Ciceronian. 
It  retires  from  the  corpse,  which  is  left  high  and  dry ; 
But  in  vain  do  they  snuff  and  hot  towels  apply, 
And  other  means  used  by  the  faculty  try, 

When  once  a  man's  dead,   There's  no  more  to  be  said ; 
Peter's  "  Bee/  with  an  e  "  was  his  "  Bier  with  an  i." 

MORAL. 

By  way  of  a  moral,  permit  me  to  pop  in 

The  following  maxims  : — beware  of  eaves-dropping ! 

Don't  make  use  of  language  that  isn't  well-scann'd  ! — 

Don't  meddle  with  matters  you  don't  understand ! — 

Above  all,  what  I'd  wish  to  impress  on  both  sexes 

Is, — Keep  clear  of  Broomsticks,  Old  Nick,  and  three  XXX's. 

L'Envoye. 

In  Goldsmiths'  Hall  there's  a  handsome  glass-case, 

And  in  it  a  stone  figure,  found  on  the  place, 

When,  thinking  the  old  Hall  no  longer  a  pleasant  one, 

They  pull'd  it  all  down,  and  erected  the  present  one. 

If  you  look,  you'll  perceive  that  this  stone  figure  twists 

A  thing  like  a  broomstick  in  one  of  its  fists. 

It's  so  injured  by  time,  you  can't  make  out  a  feature  ; 

But  it  is  not  St.  Dunstan,— so  doubtless  it's  Peter. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS.  63 

&  Hap  of  £>t,  <§encjulpfwg, 

GENGULPHUS  conies  from  the  Holy  Land, 
With  his  scrip,  and  his  bottle,  and  sandal  shoon ; 

Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 
Yet  his  lady  deems  him  return 'd  full  soon. 

Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 

Yet  scarce  had  he  cross'd  ayont  the  sea, 
Ere  a  spruce  young  spark  of  a  Learned  Clerk 

Had  call'd  on  his  Lady,  and  stopp'd  to  tea. 

This  spruce  young  guest,  so  trimly  drest, 

Stay'd  with  that  Lady  her  revels  to  crown  ; 
They  laugh'd,  and  they  ate  and  they  drank  of  the  best, 

And  they  turned  the  old  Castle  quite  upside  down. 

They  would  walk  in  the  park,  that  spruce  young  Clerk, 

With  that  frolicsome  Lady  so  frank  and  'free, 
Trying  balls  and  plays,  and  all  manner  of  ways, 

To  get  rid  of  what  French  people  call'd  Ennui. 


Now  the  festive  Board  with  viands  is  stored, 

Savoury  dishes  be  there,  I  ween, 
Rich  puddings  and  big,  a  barbecued  pig, 

And  ox-tail  soup  in  a  China  tureen. 

There's  a  flagon  of  ale  as  large  as  a  pail — 

When,  cockle  on  hat,  and  staff  in  hand, 
When  on  nought  they  are  thinking  save  eating  and  drinking, 

Gengulphus  walks  in  from  the  Holy  Land  ! 

M  You  must  be  pretty  deep  to  catch  weazels  asleep," 
Says  the  proverb  ;  that  is,  "  take  the  Fair  unawares  : " 

A  maid  o'er  the  banisters  chancing  to  peep, 
Whispers,  "Ma'am,  here's  Gengulphus  a-coming  up-stairs." 

Pig,  pudding,  and  soup,  the  electrified  group, 
With  the  flagon,  pop  under  the  sofa  in  haste, 

And  contrive  to  deposit  the  Clerk  in  the  closet, 
As  the  dish  least  of  all  to  Gengulphus's  taste, 

Then  oh  !  what  rapture,  what  joy  was  exprest, 
When  "  poor  dear  Gengulphus  "  at  last  appear'd  1 


64  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

She  kiss'd  and  she  press'd  "  the  dear  man  "  to  her  breast, 
In  spite  of  his  great,  long,  frizzly  beard. 

Such  hugging  and  squeezing  !  'twas  almost  unpleasing, 
A  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye ; 

She  was  so  very  glad,  that  she  seem'd  half  mad, 
And  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry. 

Then  she  calls  up  the  maid,  and  the  table-cloth's  laid, 
And  she  sends  for  a  pint  of  the  best  Brown  Stout ; 

On  the/fire,  too,  she  pops  some  nice  mutton-chops, 
And  she  mixes  a  stiff  glass  of  "  Cold  Without." 

Then  again  she  began  at  the  "  poor  dear  "  man  ; 

She  press'd  him  to  drink,  and  she  press'd  him  to  eat, 
And  she  brought  a  foot-pan,  with  hot  water  and  bran, 

To  comfort  his  "  poor  dear  "  travel- worn  feet 

"  Nor  night  nor  day  since  he'd  been  away, 
Had  she  had  any  rest"  she  "vowed  and  declar'd," 

She  "  never  could  eat  one  morsel  of  meat, 
For  thinking  how  '  poor  dear '  Gengulphus  fared." 

She  "  really  did  think  she  had  not  slept  a  wink 
Since  he  left  her,  although  he'd  been  absent  so  long." 

He  here  shook  his  head, — right  little  he  said, 
But  he  thought  she  was  "  coming  it  rather  too  strong. ' 

Now  his  palate  she  tickles  with  the  chops  and  the  pickles, 
Till,  so  great  the  effect  of  that  stiff  gin  grog, 

His  weaken'd  body,  subdued  by  the  toddy, 
Falls  out  of  the  chair,  and  he  lies  like  a  log, 

Then  out  comes  the  Clerk  from  his  secret  lair ; 

He  lifts  up  the  legs,  and  she  lifts  up  the  head, 
And,  between  them,  this  most  reprehensible  pair 

Undress  poor  Gengulphus  and  put  him  to  bed. 

Then  the  bolster  they  place  athwart  his  face, 
And  his  night-cap  into  his  mouth  they  cram  ; 

And  she  pinches  his  nose  underneath  the  clothes, 
Till  the  "  po  ir  dear  soul "  goes  off  like  a  lamb. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   GEtfGULPHUS.  6.5 

And  now  they  tried  the  deed  to  hide  ; 

For  a  little  bird  whisper'd,  "  Perchance  you  may  swing ; 
Here's  a  corpse  in  the  case  with  a  sad  swell'd  face, 

And  a  Medical  Crowner's  a  queer  sort  of  thing ! " 

So  the  Clerk  and  wife,  they  each  took  a  knife, 
And  the  nippers  that  nipp'd  the  loaf-sugar  for  tea ; 

With  the  edges  and  points  they  severed  the  joints 
At  the  clavicle,  elbow,  hip,  ankle,  and  knee. 

Thus,  limb  from  limb  they  dismember'd  him 
So  entirely,  that  e'en  when  they  came  to  his  wrists, 

With  those  great  sugar-nippers  they  nipp'd  off  his  "  flippers  * 
As  the  Clerk,  very  flippantly,  termed  his  fists. 

When  they'd  cut  off  his  head,  entertaining  a  dread 
Lest  folks  should  remember  Gengulphus's  face, 

They  determined  to  throw  it  where  no  one  could  know  it, 
Down  the  well, — and  the  limbs  in  some  different  pkca 

But  first  the  long  beard  from  the  chin  they  shear'd, 

And  managed  to  stuff  that  sanctified  hair, 
With  good  deal  of  pushing,  all  into  the  cushion 

That  fill'd  up  the  seat  of  a  large  arm-chair. 

They  contrived  to  pack  up  the  trunk  in  a  sack, 
Which  they  hid  in  an  osier-bed  outside  the  town, 

The  Clerk  bearing  arms,  legs,  and  all  on  his  back, 
As  that  vile  Mr.  Greenacre  served  Mrs.  Brown. 

But  to  see  now  how  strangely  things  sometimes  turn  out, 

And  that  in  a  manner  the  least  expected ! 
Who  could  surmise  a  man  ever  could  rise 

Who'd  been  thus  carbonado'd,  cut  up,  and  dissected  1 

No  doubt  'twould  surprise  the  pupils  at  Guy's  ; 

I  am  no  unbeliever — no  man  can  say  that  o'  me — 
But  St.  Thomas  himself  would  scarce  trust  his  own  eyes 

If  he  saw  such  a  thing  in  his  School  of  Anatomy. 

You  may  deal  as  you  please  with  Hindoos  and  Chinese, 
Or  a  Mussulman  making  his  heathen  salaam,  or 

A  Jew  or  a  Turk,  but  it's  other  guess  work 

»Vhen  a  man  has  to  do  with  a  Pilgrim  or  Palmer. 


66  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

By  chance  the  Prince  Bishop,  a  Royal  Divine, 

Sends  his  cards  round  the  neighbourhood  next  day,  and 

urges  his 
Wish  to  receive  a  snug"  party  to  dine 

Of  the  resident  clergy,  the  gentry,  and  burgesses. 

At  a  quarter  past  five  they  are  all  alive 
At  the  palace,  for  coaches  are  fast  rolling  in ; 

And  to  every  guest  his  card  had  express'd 
"  Half -past "  as  the  hour  for  "  a  greasy  chin." 

Some  thirty  are  seated,  and  handsomely  treated 
With  the  choicest  Rhine  wines  in  his  Highness's  stock, 

When  a  Count  of  the  Empire,  who  felt  himself  heated, 
Requested  some  water  to  mix  with  his  Hock. 

The  Butler,  who  saw  it,  sent  a  maid  out  to  draw  it» 
But  scarce  had  she  given  the  windlass  a  twirl, 

Ere  Gengulphus's  head,  from  the  well's  bottom,  said 
In  mild  accents,  "  Do  help  us  out,  that's  a  good  girl ! " 

Only  fancy  her  dread  when  she  saw  a  great  head 
In  her  bucket ; — with  fright  she  was  ready  to  drop  : — 

Conceive,  if  you  can,  how  she  roar'd  and  she  ran, 
With  the  head  rolling  after  her,  bawling  out  "  Stop ! " 

She  ran  and  she  roar'd  till  she  came  to  the  board 
Where  the  Prince  Bishop  sat  with  his  party  around, 

When  Gengulphus's  poll,  which  continued  to  roll 
At  her  heels,  on  the  table  bounced  up  with  a  bound. 

Never  touching  the  cates,  or  the  dishes  or  plates, 
The  decanters  or  glasses,  the  sweetmeats  or  fruits, 

The  head  smiles,  and  begs  them  to  bring  him  his  legs, 
As  a  well-spoken  gentleman  asks  for  his  boots. 

Kicking  open  the  casement,  to  each  one's  amazement, 
Straight  a  right  leg  steps  in,  all  impediment  scorns ; 

And  near  the  head  stopping,  a  left  follows  hopping 
Behind, — for  the  left  leg  was  troubled  with  corns. 

Next,  before  the  beholders,  two  great  brawny  shoulders, 
And  arms  on  their  bent  elbows  dance  through  the  throng, 

While  two  hands  assist,  though  nipp'd  off  at  the  wrist, 
The  said  shoulders  in  bearing  a  body  along. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.    OENGULPHUS.  67 

They  march  up  to  the  head,  not  one  syllable  said, 
For  the  thirty  guests  all  stare  in  wonder  and  doubt, 

As  the  liinbs  in  their  sight  arrange  and  unite, 
Till  Gengulphus,  though  dead,  looks  as  sound  as  a  trout. 

I  will  venture  to  say,  from  that  hour  to  this  day, 
Ne'er  did  such  an  assembly  behold  such  a  scene  ; 

Or  a  table  divide  fifteen  guests  of  a  side 
With  a  dead  body  placed  in  the  centre  between. 

Yes,  they  stared — well  they 'might  at  so  novel  a  sight : 

No  one  utter"d  a  whisper,  a  sneeze,  or  a  hem, 
But  sat  all  bolt  upright,  and  pale  with  affright ; 

And  they  gazed  at  the  dead  man,  the  dead  man  at  them. 

The  Prince  Bishop's  Jester,  on  punning  intent, 
As  he  view'd  the  whole  thirty,  in  jocular  terms 

Said,  "  They  put  him  in  mind  of  a  Council  of  Trente 
Engaged  in  reviewing  the  Diet  of  Worms." 

But  what  should  they  do  ? — Oh  !  nobody  knew 
What  was  best  to  be  done,  either  stranger  or  resident ; 

The  Chancellor's  self  read  his  Puffendorf  through 
In  vain,  for  his  books  could  not  furnish  a  precedent. 

The  Prince  Bishop  mutter'd  a  curse  and  a  prayer, 

Which  his  double  capacity  hit  to  a  nicety  : 
His  Princely,  or  Lay,  half  induced  him  to  swear, 

His  Episcopal  moiety  said  "  Benedicite  !  " 

The  Coroner  sat  on  the  body  that  night, 

And  the  jury  agreed, — not  a  doubt  could  they  harbour — 
"  That  the  chin  of  the  corpse — the  sole  thing  brought  to  light — 

Had  been  recently  shaved  by  a  very  bad  barber." 

They  sent  out  Von  Taunsend,  Von  Btirnie,  Von  Roe, 
Von   Maine,    and    Von     Rowantz — through    chalets   and 
chateaux, 

Towns,  villages,  hamlets,  they  told  them  to  go, 
And  they  stuck  up  placards  on  the  walla  of  the  Stadthaus  : 

"MURDER!! 

"WHEREAS,  a  dead  gentleman,  surname  unknown, 
Has  been  recently  found  at  his  Higlmess'e  banquet, 


68  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Rather  shabbily  drest  in  an  Amice,  or  gown, 
In  appearance  resembling  a  second-hand  blanket ; 

"  And  WHEREAS,  there's  great  reason  indeed  to  suspect 
That  some  ill-disposed  person,  or  persons,  with  malice 

Aforethought,  have  kill'd  and  begun  to  dissect 
The  said  Gentleman,  not  very  far  from  the  palace  : 

"  THIS  is  TO  GIVE  NOTICE  ! — Whoever  shall  seize, 
And  such  person,  or  persons,  to  justice  surrender, 

Shall  receive — such  REWARD — as  his  Highness  shall  please, 
On  conviction  of  him,  the  aforesaid  offender. 

"  And,  in  order  the  matter  more  clearly  to  trace 
To  the  bottom,  his  Highness,  the  Prince  Bishop,  further, 

Of  his  clemency,  offers  free  PARDON  and  Grace 
To  all  such  as  have  not  been  concern'd  in  the  murther. 

"  Done  this  day,  at  our  palace, — July  twenty-five, — 
By  command, 

(Signed) 

Johann  Von  Russell, 

N.B. 

Deceased  rather  in  years — had  a  squint  when  alive  : 
And  smells  slightly  of  gin — linen  mark'd  with  a  G." 

The  Newspapers,  too,  made  no  little  ado, 
Though  a  different  version  each  managed  to  dish  up  ; 

Some  said  "  The  Prince  Bishop  had  run  a  man  through," 
Others  said  "  an  assassin  had  kill'd  the  Prince  Bishop." 

The  " Ghent  Herald"  fell  foul  of  the  "  Bruxelles  Gazette," 
The  "  Bruxelles  Gazette,"  with  much  sneering  ironical, 

Scorn'd  to  remain  in  the  "  Ghent  Herald's  "  debt, 
And   the    "Amsterdam  Times"  quizz'd   the  "Nuremberg 
Chronicle." 

In  one  thing,  indeed,  all  the  journals  agreed. 

Spite  of  "  politics,"  "  bias,"  or  "  party  collision  ; " 
Viz. :  to    "  give,"    when    they'd  "  further    accounts "  of  the 
deed, 

"  Full  particulars"  soon,  in  " a  later  Edition." 

But  now,  while  on  all  sides  they  rode  and  they  ran, 
Trying  all  sorts  of  means  to  discover  the  caitiffs, 


A   LAY  OF  ST.    GENGULPHUS.  69 

Losing  patience,  the  holy  Gengulphus  began 
To  think  it  high  time  to  "  astonish  the  natives." 

First,  a  Rittmeister's  Frau,  who  was  weak  in  both  eyes, 
And  supposed  the  most  short-sighted  woman  in  Holland, 

Found  greater  relief,  to  her  joy  and  surprise, 
From  one  glimpse  of  his  "squint"  than  from  glasses  by 
Dollond. 

By  the  slightest  approach  to  the  tip  of  his  Nose, 
Megrims,  headache,  and  vapours  were  put  to  the  rout ; 

And  one  single  touch  of  his  precious  Great  Toes 
Was  a  certain  specific  for  chilblains  and  gout. 

Rheumatics, — sciatica, — tic-doloureux ! 

Apply  to  his  shin-bones — not  one  of  them  lingers  ; — 
All  bilious  complaints  in  an  instant  withdrew 

If  the  patient  was  tickled  with  one  of  his  fingers. 

Much  virtue  was  found  to  reside  in  his  thumbs  ; 

When  applied  to  the  chest  they  cured  scantness  of  breathing, 
Sea-sickness,  and  colic  ;  or,  rubb'd  on  the  gums, 

Were  "  A  blessing  to  Mothers,"  for  infants  in  teething. 

Whoever  saluted  the  nape  of  his  neck, 
Where  the  mark  remain'd  visible  still  of  the  knife  ; 

Notwithstanding  east  winds  perspiration  might  check, 
Was  safe  from  sore-throat  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Thus  while  each  acute  and  each  chronic  complaint 
Giving  way,  proved  an  influence  clearly  divine, 

They  perceived  the  dead  gentleman  must  be  a  Saint, 
So  they  lock'd  him  up,  body  and  bones,  in  a  shrine. 

Through  country  and  town  his  new  Saintship's  renown 
As  a  first-rate  physician  kept  daily  increasing, 

Till,  as  Alderman  Curtis  told  Alderman  Brown, 
It  seem'd  as  if  "  Wonders  had  never  done  ceasing." 

The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne  began,  it  was  known, 

A  sad  falling  off  in  their  off 'rings  to  find, 
His  feats  were  so  many — still  the  greatest  of  any, — 

In  every  sense  of  the  word,  was — behind  ; 

For  the  German  Police  were  beginning  to  cease 
From  exertions  which  each  day  more  fruitless  appear'd, 


70  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGEPDS. 

When  Gengulphus  himself,  his  fame  still  to  increase, 
UnravelTd  the  whole-  by  the  help  of — his  beard  ! 

If  you  look  back  you'll  see  the  aforesaid  barbe  gris, 
When  divorced  from  the  chin  of  its  murder'd  proprietor, 

Had  been  stuffd  in  the  seat  of  a  kind  of  settee, 
Or  double-arm'd  chair,  to  keep  the  thing  quieter. 

It  may  seem  rather  strange,  that  it  did  not  arrange 
Itself  in  its  place  when  the  limbs  join'd  together ; 

Frhaps  it  could  not  get  out,  for  the  cushion  was  stout, 
And  constructed  of  good,  strong,  maroon-colour'd  leather. 

Or,  what  is  more  likely,  Gengulphus  might  choose, 
For  Saints,  e'en  when  dead,  still  retain  their  volition, 

It  should  rest  there,  to  aid  some  particular  views, 
Produced  by  his  very  peculiar  position. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  on  the  very  first  day 

That  the  widow  Gengulphus  sat  down  on  that  settee, 
What  occurr'd  almost  frighten'd  her  senses  away, 

Beside  scaring  her  handmaidens,  Gertrude  and  Betty. 

They  were  telling  their  mistress  the  wonderful  deeds 
Of  the  new  Saint,  to  whom  all  the  town  said  their  orisons 

And  especially  how,  as  regards  invalids, 
His  miraculous  cures  far  outrivall'd  Von  Morison's. 

"  The  cripples,"  said  they,  fling  their  crutches  away, 
And  people  born  blind  now  can  easily  see  us ! " — 

But  she  (we  presume,  a  disciple  of  Hume) 
Shook  her  head,  and  said  angrily,  "  Credat  Judceus  !  * 

"  Those  rascally  liars,  the  Monks  and  the  Friars, 
To  bring  grist  to  their  mill,  these  devices  have  hit  on. — 

He  works  miracles  ! — pooh  ! — I'd  believe  it  of  you 
Just  as  soon,  you  great  Geese, — or  the  Chair  that  I  sit  on  1 

The  Chair ! — at  that  word, — it  seems  really  absurd, 
But  the  truth  must  be  told, — what  contortions  and  grins 

Distorted  her  face  ! — she  sprang  up  from  her  place 
Just  as  though  she'd  been  sitting  on  needles  and  pins. 

For,  as  if  the  Saint's  beard  the  rash  challenge  had  heard 
Which  she  utter'd,  of  what  was  beneath  her  forgetful, 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   QENGULPHUS.  71 

Each  particular  hair  stood  on  end  in  the  chair, 
Like  a  porcupine's  quills  when  the  animal's  fretful. 

That  stout  maroon  leather,  they  pierced  altogether, 
Like  tenter-hooks  holding  when  clench'd  from  within"; 

And  the  maids  cried  "  Good  gracious  !  how  very  tenacious ! " 
— They  as  well  might  endeavour  to  pull  off  her  skin  ! — 

She  shriek'd  with  the  pain,  but  all  efforts  were  vain  ; 

In  vain  did  they  strain  every  sinew  and  muscle, — 
The  cushion  stuck  fast ! — From  that  hour  to  her  last 

She  could  never  get  rid  of  that  comfortless  "  Bustle ! " 

And  e'en  as  Macbeth,  when  devising  the  death 
Of  his  King,  heard  "  the  very  stones  prate  of  his  where- 
abouts ; " 

So  this  shocking  bad  wife  heard  a  voice  all  her  life 
Crying  "  Murder  ! "  resound  from  the  cushion, — or  there- 
abouts. 

"With  regards  to  the  Clerk,  we  are  left  in  the  dark 
As  to  what  his  fate  was  ;  but  I  cannot  imagine  he 

Got  off  scot-free,  though  unnoticed  it  be 
Both  by  Ribadaneira  and  Jacques  de  Voragine  : 

For  cut-throats,  we're  sure  can  be  never  secure, 
And  "  History's  Muse  "  still  to  prove  it  her  pen  holds, 

As  you'll  see,  if  you  look  in  a  rather  scarce  book, 

" God's  Revenge  against  Murder" by  one  Mr.  Reynolds. 

MORAL. 

Now,  you  grave  married  Pilgrims,  wlio  wander  away, 

Like  Ulysses  of  old  (vide  Homer  and  Naso), 
Don't  lengthen  your  stay  to  three  years  and  a  day, 

And  when  you  are  coming  home,  just  write  and  say  so 

And  you,  learned  Clerks,  who're  not  given  to  roam, 
Stick  close  to  your  books,  nor  lose  sight  of  decorum  ; 

Don't  visit  a  house  when  the  master's  from  home ! 
Shun  drinking, — and  study  the  "  Vitce  Sanctorum ! " 

Above  all,  you  gay  ladies,  who  fancy  neglect 
In  your  spouses,  allow  not  your  patience  to  fail ; 

But  remember  Gengulphus's  wife  ! — and  reflect 
On  the  moral  enforced  by  her  terrible  tale  1 


72  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


Cfoe  £a    of  «* 


ODILLE  was  a  maid  of  a  dignified  race  : 
Her  father,  Count  Otto,  was  lord  of  Alsace  ; 
Such  an  air,  such  a  grace,    Such  a  form,  such  a  face, 
All  agreed,  'twere  a  fruitless  endeavour  to  trace 
In  the*  Court,  or  within  fifty  miles  of  the  place. 
Many  ladies  in  Strasburg  were  beautiful,  still 
They  were  beat  all  to  sticks  by  the  lovely  Odille. 

But  Odille  was  devout,  and  before  she  was  nine, 
Had  "  experienced  a  call  "  she  consider'd  divine, 
To  put  on  the  veil  at  St.  Ermengarde's  shrine.— 
Lords,  Dukes,  and  Electors,  and  Counts  Palatine 
Came  to  seek  her  in  marriage  from  both  sides  the  Rhine, 

But  vain  their  design,    They  are  all  left  to  pine, 
Their  oglings  and  smiles  are  all  useless  ;  in  fine 
Not  one  of  these  gentlefolks,  try  as  they  will, 
Can  draw,  "  Ask  my  papa  "  from  the  cruel  Odille. 

At  length  one  of  her  suitors,  a  certain  Count  Herman, 
A  highly  respectable  man  as  a  German, 
Who  smoked  like  a  chimney,  and  drank  like  a  Merman, 
Paid  his  court  to  her  father,  conceiving  his  firman 

Would  soon  make  her  bend,    And  induce  her  to  lend 
An  ear  to  a  love-tale  in  lieu  of  a  sermon. 
He  gain'd  the  old  Count,  who  said,  "  Come,  Mynheer,  fill  i- 
Here's  luck  to  yourself  and  my  daughter  Odille  !  " 

The  Lady  Odille  was  quite  nervous  with  fear 
When  a  little  bird  whisper'd  that  toast  in  her  ear  : 

She  murmur'd,  "  Oh,  dear  !  My  papa  has  got  queer, 
I  am  sadly  afraid,  with  that  nasty  strong  beer  ! 
He's  so  very  austere,  and  severe,  that  it's  clear 
If  he  gets  in  his  "  tantrums,"  I  can't  remain  here  ; 
But  St.  Ermengarde's  convent  is  luckily  near  ; 

It  were  folly  to  stay,     Pour  prendre  conge, 
I  shall  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  e'en  run  away  !  " 
—  She  unlock'd  the  back  door  and  descended  the  hill, 
On  whose  crest  stood  the  towers  of  the  sire  of  Odille. 
—When  he  found  she'd  levanted,  the  Count  of  Alsace 
At  first  turn'd  remarkably  red  in  the  face  ; 


A  LAY  OF  ST.    ODILLE.  73 

He  anathematised,  with  much  unction  and  grace, 
Every  soul  who  came  near,  and  consigned  the  whole  race 
Of  runaway  girls  to  a  very  warm  place ; 

With  a  frightful  grimace,    He  gave  orders  for  chase 
His  vassals  set  off  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace, 
And  of  all  whom  they  met,  high  or  low,  Jack  or  Jill, 
Ask'd,  "  Pray  have  you  seen  anything  of  Lady  Odille  ?" 

Now  I  think  I've  been  told, — for  I'm  no  sporting  man, — 
That  the  "  knowing-ones  "  call  this  by  far  the  best  plan, 
"  Take  the  lead  and  then  keep  it !  " — that  is,  if  you  can. — 
Odille  thought  so  too,  so  she  set  off  and  ran, 

Put  her  best  leg  before,    Starting  at  score, 
As  I  said  some  lines  since,  from  that  little  back  door, 
And  not  being  miss'd  until  half  after  four, 
Had  what  hunters  call  "  law  "  for  a  good  hour  and  more  ; 

Doing  her  best,   Without  stopping  to  rest, 
Like  "  young  Lochinvar  who  came  out  of  the  West." 
"  'Tis  done  ! — I  am  gone  ! — over  briar,  brook,  and  rill  ! 
They'll  be  sharp  lads  who  catch  me  ! "    said  young  Miss 

Odille. 

But  you've  all  read  in  ^Esop,  or  Phaedrus,  or  Gay, 
How  a  tortoise  and  hare  ran  together  one  day  ; 

How  the  hare,  making  play, 

"  Progress'd  right  slick  away," 
As  "  them  tarnation  chaps,"  the  Americans  say ; 
While  the  tortoise,  whose  figure  is  rather  outre 
For  racing,  crawl'd  straight  on,  without  let  or  stay, 
Having  no  post-horse  duty  or  turnpikes  to  pay, 

Till,  ere  noon's  ruddy  ray  changed  to  Eve's  sober  grey, 
Though  her  form  and  obesity  caused  some  delay, 
Perseverance  and  patience  brought  up  her  lee-way, 
And  she  chased  her  fleet-footed  "  praycursor  "  until 
She  o'ertook  her  at  last ; — so  it  fared  with  Odille  ! 
For  although,  as  I  said,  she  ran  gaily  at  first, 
And  shoVd  no  inclination  to  pause,  if  she  durst ; 
She  at  length  felt  opprest  with  the  heat,  and  with  thirst, 
Its  usual  attendant ;  nor  was  that  the  worst, 
Her  shoes  went  down  at  heel ;  at  last  one  of  them  burst. 

Now  a  gentleman  smiles    At  a  trot  of  ten  miles ; 
But  not  so  the  Fair  :  then  consider  the  stiles, 


74  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  as  then  ladies  seldom  wore  things  with  a  frill 
Round  the  ankle,  these  stiles  sadly  bother'd  Odille. 

Still,  despite  all  the  obstacles  placed  in  her  track, 
She  kept  steadily  on,  though  the  terrible  crack 
In  her  shoe  made  of  course  her  progression  more  slack, 
Till  she  reach'd  the  Swartz  Forest  (in  English  the  Black). 

I  cannot  divine,    How  the  boundary  line 
Was  pass'd  which  is  somewhere  there  form'd  by  the  Rhine  - 

Perhaps  she'd  the  knack    To  float  o'er  on  her  back— 
Or,  perhaps,  cross'd  the  old  bridge  of  boats  at  Brisach 
(Which  Vauban,  some  years  after,  secured  from  attack 
By  a  bastion  of  stone  which  the  Germans  call  "  Wacke  ")  ; 
All  I  know  is,  she  took  not  so  much  as  a  snack, 
Till,  hungry  and  worn,  feeling  wretchedly  ill, 
On  a  mountain's  brow  sank  down  the  weary  Odille. 

I  said  on  its  "brow,"  but  I  should  have  said  "  crown," 

For  'twas  quite  on  the  summit,  bleak,  barren,  and  brown, 

And  so  high  that  'twas  frightful  indeed  to  look  down 

Upon  Friburg,  a  place  of  some  little  renown, 

That  lay  at  its  foot ;  but  imagine  the  frown 

That  contracted  her  brow,  when  full  many  a  clown 

She  perceived  coming  up  from  that  horrid  post-town, 

They  had  follow'd  her  trail, 

And  now  thought  without  fail, 
As  little  boys  say,  to  "  lay  salt  on  her  tail ;  " 
While  the  Count,  who  knew  no  other  law  but  his  will, 
Swore  that  Herman  that  evening  should  marry  Odille. 

Alas,  for  Odille !  poor  dear  !  what  could  she  do  1 
Her  father's  retainers  now  had  her  in  view, 
As  she  found  from  their  raising  a  joyous  halloo  : 
While  the  Count,  riding  on  at  the  head  of  his  crew, 
In  their  snuff-colour'd  doublets,  and  breeches  of  blue, 
Was  huzzaing  and  urging  them  on  to  pursue — 

What,  indeed,  could  she  do  1    She  very  well  knew 
If  they  caught  her  how  much  she  should  have  to  go  through  ; 
But  then — she'd  so  shocking  a  hole  in  her  shoe ! 
And  to  go  further  on  was  impossible  ; — true 
She  might  jump  o'er  the  precipice ; — still  there  are  few 
In  her  place,  who  could  manage  their  courage  to  screw 


A  LAY  OF  Sf.   ODILLE.  78 

Up  to  bidding  the  world  such  a  sudden  adieu : — 

Alack  !  how  she  envied  the  birds  as  they  flew ; 

No  Nassau  balloon,  with  its  wicker  canoe, 

Came  to  bear  her  from  him  she  loath'd  worse  than  a  Jew ; 

So  she  fell  on  her  knees  in  a  terrible  stew, 

Crying  "  Holy  St.  Ermengarde ! 

Oh,  from  these  vermin  guard 
Her  whose  last  hope  rests  entirely  on  you  ; — 
Don't  let  papa  catch  me,  dear  Saint ! — rather  kill 
At  once — sur-le-champ,  your  devoted  Odille ! " 

Its  delightful  to  see  those  who  strive  to  oppress, 

Get  baulk'd  when  they  think  themselves  sure  of  success. 

The  Saint  came  to  the  rescue  ! — I  fairly  confess 

I  don't  see,  as  a  Saint,  how  she  well  could  do  less 

Than  to  get  such  a  votary  out  of  her  mess. 

Odille  had  scarce  closed  her  pathetic  address 

When  the  rock,  gaping  wide  as  the  Thames  at  Sheerness, 

Closed  again,  and  secured  her  within  its  recess, 

In  a  natural  grotto,    Which  puzzled  Count  Otto, 
Who  could  not  conceive  where  the  deuce  she  had  got  to. 
Twas  her  voice ! — but  'twas  Vox  et  prceterea  Nil ! 
Nor  could  any  one  guess  what  was  gone  with  Odille ! 

Then  burst  from  the  mountain  a  splendour  that  quite 

Eclipsed,  in  its  brilliance,  the  finest  Bude  light, 

And  there  stood  St.  Ermengarde,  drest  all  in  white, 

A  palm-branch  in  her  left  hand,  her  beads  in  her  right ; 

While,  with  faces  fresh  gilt,  and  with  wings  burnish'd  bright, 

A  great  many  little  boys'  heads  took  their  flight 

Above  and  around  to  a  very  great  height, 

And  seem'd  pretty  lively  considering  their  plight, 

Since  every  one  saw,    With  amazement  and  awe, 
They  could  never  sit  down,  for  they  hadn't  de  quoi. — 

All  at  the  sight,    From  the  knave  to  the  knight, 
Felt  a  very  unpleasant  sensation,  call'd  fright ; 

While  the  Saint  looking  down,    With  a  terrible  frown, 
Said  "  My  Lords,  you  are  done  most  remarkably  brown  ! — 
I  am  really  ashamed  of  you  both  ; — my  nerves  thrill 
At  your  scandalous  conduct  to  poor,  dear  Odille ! 

"  Come,  make  yourselves  scarce ! — it  is  useless  to  stay, 
You  will  gain  nothing  here  by  a  longer  delay. 


76  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGE.YDS. 

'  Quick  !  Presto !  Begone ! '  as  the  conjux  ms  say  ; 

For  as  to  the  Lady,  I've  stoVd  her  away 

In  this  hill,  in  a  stratum  of  London  blue  clay  ; 

And  I  shan't,  I  assure  you,  restore  her  to-day 

Till  you  faithfully  promise  no  more  to  say  '  Nay,' 

But  declare,  '  If  she  will  be  a  nun,  why  she  may.' 

For  this  you've  my  word,  and  I  never  yet  broke  it, 

So  put  that  in  your  pipe,  my  Lord  Otto,  and  smoke  it  ! — 

One  hint  to  your  vassals, — a  month  at '  the  mill ' 

Shall  be  nuts  to  what  they'll  get  who  worry  Odille !  " 

The  Saint  disappear'd  as  she  ended,  and  so 

Did  the  little  boys'  heads,  which,  above  and  below, 

As  I  told  you  a  very  few  stanzas  ago, 

Had  been  flying  about  her,  and  jumping  Jim  Crow ; 

Though, — without  any  body,  or  leg,  foot,  or  toe, 

How  they  managed  such  antics,  I  really  don't  know  ; 

Be  that  as  it  may,  they  all  "  melted  like  snow 

Off  a  dyke,"  as  the  Scotch  say  in  Sweet  Edinbro'. 

And  there  stood  the  Count,   With  his  men  on  the  mount, 
Just  like  "  twenty-four  jackasses  all  on  a  row," 
What  was  best  to  be  done — 'twas  a  sad  bitter  pill — 
But  gulp  it  he  must,  or  else  lose  his  Odille. 

The  lord  of  Alsace  therefore  altered  his  plan, 

And  said  to  himself,  like  a  sensible  man, 

"  I  can't  do  as  I  would, — I  must  do  as  I  can  ; 

It  will  not  do  to  lie  under  any  Saint's  ban, 

For  your  hide,  when  you  do,  they  all  manage  to  tan  ; 

So  Count  Herman  must  pick  up  some  Betsey  or  Nan, 

Instead  of  my  girl, — some  Sue,  Polly,  or  Fan  ; — 

If  he  can't  get  the  corn,  he  must  do  with  the  bran, 

And  make  shift  with  the  pot  if  he  can't  have  the  pan." 

With  such  proverbs  as  these,    He  went  down  on  his  knees 
And  said,  "  Blessed  St.  Ermengarde,  just  as  you  please — 
They  shall  build  a  new  convent, — I'll  pay  the  whole  bill, 
(Taking  discount), — its  Abbess  shall  be  my  Odille  ! " 

There  are  some  of  my  readers,  I'll  venture  to  say, 
Who  have  never  seen  Friburg,  though  some  of  them  mny, 
And  others,  'tis  likely,  may  go  there  some  day. 
Now,  if  ever  you  happen  to  travel  that  way, 


A  LAY  OP  ST.   ODILLE.  77 

I  do  beg  and  pray,  'twill  your  pains  well  repay, — 
That  you'll  take  what  the  Cockney  folks  call  a  "  jio-shay," 
(Though  in  Germany  these  things  are  more  like  a  dray), 
You  may  reach  this  same  hill  with  a  single  relay, — 

And  do  look  how  the  rock, 

Through  the  whole  of  its  block, 
Is  split  open,  as  though  by  some  violent  shock 
From  an  earthquake,  or  lightning,  or  horrid  hard  knock 
From  the  club-bearing  fist  of  some  jolly  old  cock 
Of  a  Germanized  giant,  Thor,  Woden,  or  Lok  ; 

And  see  how  it  rears    Its  two  monstrous  great  ears, 
For  when  once  you're  between  them  such  each  side  appears  ; 
And  list  to  the  sound  of  the  water  one  hears 
Drip,  drip,  from  the  fissures,  like  rain-drops  or  tears, 
— Odille's,  I  believe — which  have  floVd  all  these  years  ; 
— I  think  they  account  for  them  so  ; — but  the  rill 
I  am  sure  is  connected  some  way  with  Odille. 

MORAL. 

Now  then,  for  a  moral,  which  always  arrives 
At  the  end,  like  the  honey  bees  take  to  their  hives, 
And  the  more  one  observes  it  the  better  one  thrives, — 
We  have  all  heard  it  said  in  the  course  of  our  lives, 
"  Needs  must  when  a  certain  old  gentleman  drives ;  " 
'Tis  the  same  with  the  lady, — if  once  she  contrives 
To  get  hold  of  the  ribbons,  how  vainly  one  strives 
To  escape  from  her  lash,  or  to  shake  off  her  gyves ! 
Then  let's  act  like  Count  Otto,  and  while  one  survives, 
Succumb  to  our  She-Saints — videlicet  wives  ! 
(Aside.}    That  is  if  one  has  not  a  "good  bunch  of  fives." — 
(I  can't  think  how  that  last  line  escaped  from  my  quill, 
For  I  am  sure  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  Odille.) 

Now  young  ladies,  to  you  ! — Don't  put  on  the  shrew  ! — 
And  don't  be  surprised  if  your  father  looks  blue 
When  you're  pert,  and  won't  act  as  he  wants  you  to  do  I 
Be  sure  that  you  never  elope  ; — there  are  few, — 
Believe  me,  you'll  find  what  I  say  to  be  true, — 
Who  run  restive,  but  find  as  they  bake  they  must  brew, 
And  come  off  at  last  with  "  a  hole  in  their  shoe  ; " 
Since  not  even  Clapham,  that  sanctified  ville. 
Can  produce  enough  saints  to  save  every  Odille, 


78  THE  IXGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

of 

"Statim  sacerdoti  apparuit  diabolus  in  specie  pucllre  pulchritudinis 
mirae,  et  ecce  Divus,  fide  catholicfl,  et  cruce,  et  aqua  benedicta  armatus 
venit,  et  aspersit  aqTiam  in  nomine  Sanctae  et  Individunj  Trinitatis,  quam, 
quasi  ardentem,  diabolus,  nequaquam  sustinere  valens,  mugitibus  fugit." 

liOGKH  HOVEDEN. 

"  LORD  ABBOT  !  Lord  Abbot !  I'd  fain  confess  j 

I  am  a- weary,  and  worn  with  woe ; 
Many  a  grief  doth  my  heart  oppress, 

And  haunt  me  whithersoever  I  go  ! " 

On  bended  knee  spake  the  beautiful  Maid  ; 

"  Now  lithe  and  listen,  Lord  Abbot,  to  me  ! " — 
"  Now  naye,  Fair  Daughter,"  the  Lord  Abbot  said, 

"  Now  naye,  in  sooth  it  may  hardly  be  ; 

"  There  is  Mess  Michael,  and  holy  Mess  John, 

Sage  Penitauncers  I  ween  be  they ! 
And  hard  by  doth  dwell,  in  St.  Catherine's  cell, 

Ambrose  the  anchorite  old  and  grey  ! " 

— "  Oh  I  will  have  none  of  Ambrose  or  John, 

Though  sage  Penitauncers  I  trow  they  be ; 
Shrive  me  may  none  save  the  Abbot  alone, 

Now  listen,  Lord  Abbot,  I  speak  to  thee. 

"  Nor  think  foul  scorn,  though  mitre  adorn 

Thy  brow,  to  listen  to  shrift  of  mine ! 
I  am  a  Maiden  royally  born, 

And  I  come  of  old  Plantagenet's  line. 

"  Though  hither  I  stray,  in  lowly  array, 

I  am  a  damsel  of  high  degree  ; 
And  the  Compte  of  Eu,  and  the  Lord  of  Ponthieu, 

They  serve  my  father  on  bended  knee  ! 

"  Counts  a  many,  and  Dukes  a  few, 

A  suitoring  came  to  my  father's  Hall ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  with  his  large  domain, 

He  pleased  my  father  beyond  them  all 

**  Dukes  a  many,  and  Counts  a  few, 

I  would  have  wedded  right  cheerfullie  ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  was  uncommonly  plain, 

And  I  vow'd  that  he  ne'er  should  my  bridegroom  b«. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  79 

"  So  hither  I  fly,  in  lowly  guise, 

From  their  gilded  domes  and  their  princely  halls ; 
Fain  would  I  dwell  in  some  holy  cell, 

Or  within  some  Convent's  peaceful  walls ! " 

—Then  out  and  spake  that  proud  Lord  Abbot, 
"  Now  rest  thee,  Fair  Daughter,  withouten  fear, 

Nor  Count  nor  Duke  but  shall  meet  the  rebuke 
Of  Holy  Church  an  he  seek  thee  here  : 

"Holy  Church  denieth  all  search 

'Midst  her  sanctified  ewes  and  her  saintly  rams ; 
And  the  wolves  doth  mock  who  would  scathe  her  flock, 

Or,  especially,  worry  her  little  pet  lambs. 

"  Then  lay,  Fair  Daughter,  thy  fears  aside, 
For  here  this  day  shalt  thou  dine  with  me ! " — 

"  Now  naye,  now  naye,"  the  fair  maiden  cried ; 
"  In  sooth,  Lord  Abbot,  that  scarce  may  be  ! 

M  Friends  would  whisper,  and  foes  would  frown, 

Sith  thou  art  a  Churchman  of  high  degree, 
And  ill  mote  it  match  with  thy  fair  renown 

That  a  wandering  damsel  dine  with  thee ! 

"  There  is  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store, 

With  beans  and  lettuces  fair  to  see  ; 
His  lenten  fare,  now  let  me  share, 

I  pray  thee,  Lord  Abbot,  in  charitie ! " 

— "  Though  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store, 

To  our  patron  Saint  foul  shame  it  were 
Should  wayworn  guest,  with  toil  oppress'd, 

Meet  in  his  Abbey  such  churlish  fare. 

"  There  is  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 
And  Roger  the  Monk  shall  our  convives  be  ; 

Small  scandal,  I  ween,  shall  then  be  seen, 
They  are  a  goodly  companie  ! " 

The  Abbot  hath  donn'd  his  mitre  and  ring, 

His  rich  dalmatic,  and  maniple  fine  ; 
And  the  choristers  sing,  as  the  lay-brothers  bring 

To  the  board  a  magnificent  turkey  and  chine. 


80  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  turkey  and  chine,  they  are  done  to  a  nicety  j 

Liver,  and  gizzard,  and  all  are  there ; 
Ne'er  mote  Lord  Abbot  pronounce  Benedidte 

Over  more  luscious  or  delicate  fare. 

But  no  pious  stave,  no  Pater  or  A  ve 
Pronounced  as  he  gazed  on  that  maiden's  face  ; 

She  ask'd  him  for  stuffing,  she  ask'd  him  for  gravy, 
She  ask'd  him  for  gizzard  ; — but  not  for  Grace  ! 

Yet  gaily  the  Lord  Abbot  smiled^and  press'd, 
And  the  blood-red  wine  in  the  wine-cup  fill'd ; 

And  he  help'd  his  guest  to  a  bit  of  the  breast, 
And  he  sent  the  drumsticks  down  to  be  grill'd. 

There  was  no  lack  of  old  Sherris  sack, 

Of  Hippocras  fine,  or  of  Malmsey  bright ; 
And  aye,  as  he  drain'd  off  his  cup  with  a  smack, 

He  grew  less  pious  and  more  polite. 

She  pledged  him  once,  and  she  pledged  him  twice, 
And  she  drank  as  Lady  ought  not  to  drink  ; 

And  he  press'd  her  hand  'neath  the  table  thrice, 
And  he  wink'd  as  Abbot  ought  not  to  wink. 

And  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 

Sat  each  with  a  napkin  under  his  chin  ; 
But  Roger  the  Monk  got  excessively  drunk, 

So  they  put  him  to  bed,  and  they  tuck'd  him  in ! 

The  lay-brothers  gazed  on  each  other,  amazed  ; 

And  Simon  the  Deacon,  with  grief  and  surprise, 
As  he  peep'd  through  the  key-hole,  could  scare  fancy  real 

The  scene  he  beheld,  or  believe  his  own  eyes. 

In  his  ear  was  ringing  the  Lord  Abbot  singing, — 
He  could  not  distinguish  the  words  very  plain, 

But  'twas  all  about  "  Cole,"  and  "jolly  old  soul," 
And  "  Fiddlers,"  and  "  Punch,"  and  things  quite  as  profane 

Even  Porter  Paul  at  the  sound  of  such  revelling, 

With  fervour  himself  began  to  bless ; 
For  he  thought  he  must  somehow  have  let  the  Devil  in,- 

And  perhaps  was  not  very  much  out  in  his  guess. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  81 

Tlie  Accusing  Byers  "  flew  up  to  Heaven's  Chancery," 
Blushing  like  scarlet  with  shame  and  concern  ; 

The  Archangel  took  down  his  tale,  and  in  answer  he 
Wept — (See  the  works  of  the  late  Mr.  Sterne). 

Indeed,  it  is  said,  a  less  taking  both  were  in 

When,  after  a  lapse  of  a  great  many  years, 
They  book'd  Uncle  Toby  five  shillings  for  swearing, 

And  blotted  the  fine  out  again  with  their  tears ! 

But  St.  Nicholas'  agony  who  may  paint  ? 

His  senses  at  first  were  well-nigh  gone ; 
The  beatified  saint  was  ready  to  faint 

When  he  saw  in  his  Abbey  such  sad  goings  on  ! 

For  never,  I  ween,  had  such  doings  been  seen 
There  before,  from  the  time  that  most  excellent  Prince, 

Earl  Baldwin  of  Flanders,  and  other  Commanders, 
Had  built  and  endoVd  it  some  centuries  since. 

— But  hark  ! — 'tis  a  sound  from  the  outermost  gate ; 

A  startling  sound  from  a  powerful  blow, — 
Who  knocks  so  late  ? — it  is  half  after  eight 

By  the  clock, — and  the  clock's  five  minutes  too  slow. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  such  loud  double  raps 

Been  heard  in  St.  Nicholas'  Abbey  before  ; 
All  agreed  "  it  was  shocking  to  keep  people  knocking," 

But  none  seem'd  inclined  to  "  answer  the  door." 

Now  a  louder  bang  through  the  cloisters  rang, 

And  the  gate  on  its  hinges  wide  open  flew ; 
And  all  were  aware  of  a  Palmer  there, 

With  his  cockle,  hat,  staff,  and  his  sandal  shoe. 

Many  a  furrow,  and  many  a  frown, 

By  toil  and  time  on  his  brow  were  traced ; 
And  his  long  loose  gown  was  of  ginger  brown, 

And  his  rosary  dangled  below  his  waist. 

Now  seldom,  I  ween,  is  such  costume  seen, 

Except  at  a  stage-play  or  masquerade  ; 
But  who  doth  not  know  it  was  rather  the  go 

With  Pilgrims  and  Saints  in  the  Second  Crusade  t 


82  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

With  noiseless  stride  did  that  Palmer  glide 

Across  that  oaken  floor ; 
And  he  made  them  all  jump,  he  gave  such  a  thump 

Against  the  Kefectory  door  ! 

Wide  open  it  flew,  and  plain  to  the  view 

The  Lord  Abbot  they  all  mote  see ; 
Jn  his  hand  was  a  cup,  and  he  lifted  it  up, 

"  Here's  the  Pope's  good  health  with  three ! ! " 

Rang  in  their  ears  three  deafening  cheers, 

"  Huzza  !  huzza !  huzza ! " 
And  one  of  the  party  said,  "  Go  it,  my  hearty  !  "— 

When  out  spake  that  Pilgrim  grey — 

"  A  boon,  Lord  Abbot !  a  boon !  a  boon ! 

Worn  is  my  foot,  and  empty  my  scrip ; 
And  nothing  to  speak  of  since  yesterday  noon 

Of  food,  Lord  Abbot,  hath  pass'd  my  lip. 

"  And  I  am  come  from  a  far  countree, 
And  have  visited  many  a  holy  shrine ; 

And  long  have  I  trod  the  sacred  sod 
Where  the  Saints  do  rest  in  Palestine ! " — 

"  An  thou  art  come  from  a  far  countree, 
And  if  thou  in  Paynim  lands  hast  been, 

Now  rede  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  sight, 
Thou  Palmer  grey,  that  thine  eyes  have  seen. 

"  Arede  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  sight, 
Grey  Palmer,  that  ever  thine  eyes  did  see, 

And  a  manchette  of  bread,  and  a  good  warm  bed, 
And  a  cup  o'  the  best  shall  thy  guerdon  be ! " 

"  Oh  !  I  have  been  east,  and  I  have  been  west, 
And  I  have  seen  many  a  wonderful  sight ; 

But  never  to  me  did  it  happen  to  see 
A  wonder  like  that  which  I  see  this  night. 

"  To  see  a  Lord  Abbot,  in  rochet  and  stole, 
With  Prior  and  Friar, — a  strange  mar-velle ! — 

O'er  a  jolly  full  bowl,  sitting  cheek  by  jowl, 
And  hob-nobbing  away  with  a  Devil  from  Hell !  * 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   NICHOLAS.  83 

He  felt  in  his  gown  of  ginger  brown, 

And  he  pull'd  out  a  flask  from  beneath ; 
It  was  rather  tough  work  to  get  out  the  cork, 

But  he  drew  it  at  last  with  his  teeth. 

O'er  a  pint  and  a  quarter  of  holy  water, 

He  made  a  sacred  sign  ; 
And  he  dash'd  the  whole  on  the  soi-disant  daughter 

Of  old  Plantagenet's  line  I 

Oh !  then  did  she  reek,  and  squeak,  and  shriek, 

With  a  wild  unearthly  scream  ; 
And  fizzled,  and  hiss'd,  and  produced  such  a  mist, 

They  were  all  half-choked  by  the  steam. 

Her  dove-like  eyes  turn'd  to  coals  of  fire, 

Her  beautiful  nose  to  a  horrible  snout, 
Her  hands  to  paws,  with  nasty  great  claws, 

And  her  bosom  went  in,  and  her  tail  came  out. 

On  her  chin  there  appear'd  a  long  Nanny-goat's  beard, 
And  her  tusks  and  her  teeth  no  man  mote  tell ; 

And  her  horns  and  her  hoofs  gave  infallible  proofs 
'Twas  a  frightful  fiend  from  the  nethermost  hell ! 

The  Palmer  threw  down  his  ginger  gown, 

His  hat  and  his  cockle  ;  and,  plain  to  sight, 
Stood  St.  Nicholas'  self,  and  his  shaven  crown 

Had  a  glow-worm  halo  of  heavenly  light. 

The  fiend  made  a  grasp,  the  Abbot  to  clasp  ; 

But  St.  Nicholas  lifted  his  holy  toe, 
And,  just  in  the  nick,  let  fly  such  a  kick 

On  his  elderly  Namesake,  he  made  him  let  go. 

And  out  of  the  window  he  flew  like  a  shot, 

For  the  foot  flew  up  with  a  terrible  thwack, 
And  caught  the  foul  demon  about  the  spot 

Where  his  tail  joins  on  to  the  small  of  his  back. 

And  he  bounded  away  like  a  foot-ball  at  play, 

Till  into  the  bottomless  pit  he  fell  slap, 
Knocking  Mammon  the  meagre  o'er  pursy  Belphegor, 

And  Lucifer  into  Beelzebub's  lap. 


84  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Oh !  happy  the  slip  from  his  Succubine  grip, 

That  saved  the  Lord  Abbot, — though  breathless  with  fright, 
In  escaping  he  tumbled,  and  fractur'd  his  hip, 

And  his  left  leg  was  shorter  thenceforth  than  his  right ! 


On  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  as  he's  stopping  to  dine, 
From  a  certain  Inn- window  the  traveller  is  shown 

Most  picturesque  ruins,  the  scene  of  these  doings, 
Some  miles  up  the  river,  south-east  of  Cologne. 

And,  while  "  sowr-Tcraut "  she  sells  you,  the  landlady  tells  you 
That  there,  in  those  walls,  now  all  roofless  and  bare, 

One  Simon,  a  Deacon,  from  a  lean  grew  a  sleek  one, 
On  filling  a  d-devant  Abbot's  state  chair. 

How,  a  ci-devant  Abbot,  all  clothed  in  drab,  but 
Of  texture  the  coarsest,  hair  shirt,  and  no  shoes 

(His  mitre  and  ring,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
Laid  aside),  in  yon  Cave  lived  a  pious  recluse ; 

How  he  rose  with  the  sun,  limping  "  dot  and  go  one," 
To  yon  rill  of  the  mountain,  in  all  sorts  of  weather, 
Where  a  Prior  and  a  Friar,  who  lived  somewhat  higher 

Up  the  rock,  used  to  come  and  eat  cresses  together ; 

. 

How  a  thirsty  old  codger,  the  neighbours  call'd  Roger, 
With  them  drank  cold  water  in  lieu  of  old  wine  ! 

What  its  quality  wanted  he  made  up  in  quantity, 
Swigging  as  though  he  would  empty  the  Rhine  ! 

And  how,  as  their  bodily  strength  fail'd,  the  mental  man 

Gain'd  tenfold  vigour  and  force  in  all  four ; 
And  how,  to  the  day  of  their  death,  the  "  Old  Gentleman  " 

Never  attempted  to  kidnap  them  more. 

And  how,  when  at  length,  in  the  odour  of  sanctity, 
All  of  them  died  without  grief  or  complaint ; 

The  Monks  of  St.  Nicholas  said  'twas  ridiculous 
Not  to  suppose  every  one  was  a  Saint. 

And  how,  in  the  Abbey,  no  one  was  so  shabby 

As  not  to  say  yearly  four  masses  a  head, 
On  the  eve  of  that  supper,  and  kick  on  the  crupper 

Which  Satan  received,  for  the  souls  of  the  dead  ! 


THE  TRAGEDY.  85 

How  folks  long  held  in  reverence  their  reliques  and  memories, 
How  the  ci-devant  Abbot's  obtain'd  greater  still, 

When  some  cripples,  on  touching  his  fractur'd  osfemoris, 
Threw  down  their  crutches  and  danced  a  quadrille  ! 

And  how  Abbot  Simon  (who  turned  out  a  prime  one) 

These  words,  which  grew  into  a  proverb  full  soon, 
O'er  the  late  Abbot's  grotto,  stuck  up  as  a  motto, 

suppcs  tottli  tfir  Shbtllc  sljoltic  l),ibt  a  long  spoonr  ? " 


"Quseque  ipse  miserrima  vidi. " — VIKGIL. 

CATHERINE  OF  CLEVES  was  a  Lady  of  rank  : 

She  had  lands  and  fine  houses,  and  cash  in  the  Bank  ; 

She  had  jewels  and  rings,    And  a  thousand  smart  things  ; 

Was  lovely  and  young,     With  a  rather  sharp  tongue, 
And  she  wedded  a  noble  of  high  degree 
With  the  star  of  the  order  of  St.  Esprit. 

But  the  Duke  de  Guise    Was,  by  many  degrees, 
Her  senior,  and  not  very  easy  to  please ; 
He'd  a  sneer  on  his  lip,  and  a  scowl  with  his  eye, 
And  a  frown  on  his  brow, — and  he  look'd  like  a  Guy, — 

So  she  took  to  intriguing    With  Monsieur  St.  Megrin, 
A  young  man  of  fashion,  and  figure,  and  worth, 
But  with  no  great  pretensions  to  fortune  or  birth  ; 

He  would  sing,  fence,  and  dance, 

With  the  best  man  in  France, 
And  took  his  rappee  with  genteel  nonchalance  ; 
He  smiled,  and  he  flatter'd,  and  flirted  with  ease, 
And  was  very  superior  to  Monseigneur  de  Guise. 
Now  Monsieur  St.  Megrin  was  curious  to  know 
Tf  the  Lady  approved  of  his  passion  or  no ; 

So  without  more  ado,    He  put  on  his  swrtout, 
And  went  to  a  man  with  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 

One  Signer  Ruggieri,    A  Cunning-man  near,  he 
Could  conjure,  tell  fortunes,  and  calculate  tides, 
Perform  tricks  on  the  cards,  and  Heaven  knows  what  besides, 
Bring  back  a  stray'd  cow,  silver  ladle,  or  spoon, 
And  was  thought  to  be  thick  with  the  Man  in  the  Moon, 


86  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  Sage  took  his  stand    With  his  wand  in  his  hand, 
Drew  a  circle,  then  gave  the  dread  word  of  command, 
Saying  solemnly — "  Presto  I — Hey,  quick  !  Cock-a-lorum  ! ! " 
When  the  Duchess  immediately  popp'd  up  before  'em. 
Just  then  a  Conjunction  of  Venus  and  Mars, 
Or  something  peculiar  above  in  the  stars, 
Attracted  the  notice  of  Signer  Kuggieri, 
Who  "  bolted,"  and  left  him  alone  with  his  deary — 
Monsieur  St.  Megrin  went  down  on  his  knees, 
And  the  Duchess  shed  tears  large  as  marrow-fat  peas, 

When, — fancy  the  shock, —    A  low  double  knock, 
Made  the  Lady  cry,  "  Get  up,  you  fool ! — there's  De  Guise ! " 

'Twas  his  Grace,  sure  enough  ; 

So  Monsieur,  looking  bluff, 

Strutted  by,  with  his  hat  on,  and  fingering  his  ruff, 
While,  unseen  by  either,  away  flew  the  Dame 
Through  the  opposite  key-hole,  the  same  way  she  came ; 

But,  alack  !  and  alas  !    A  mishap  came  to  pass, 
In  her  hurry  she,  somehow  or  other,  let  fall 
A  new  silk  Bandana  she'd  worn  as  a  shawl ; 

She  had  used  it  for  drying 

Her  bright  eyes  while  crying, 
And  blowing  her  nose,  as  her  Beau  talk'd  of  dying  ! 

Now  the  Duke,  who  had  seen  it  so  lately  adorn  her, 
And  knew  the  great  C  with  the  Crown  in  the  corner, 
The  instant  he  spied  it,  smoked  something  amiss, 
And  said  with  some  energy,  "  D it ;  what's  this  ? " 

He  went  home  in  a  fume,    And  bounced  into  her  room 
Crying,  "  So,  Ma'am,  I  find  I've  some  cause  to  be  jealous  ! 
Look  here  !  here's  a  proof  you  run  after  the  fellows  ! 
— Now  take  up  that  pen, — if  it's  bad  choose  a  better, — 
And  write,  as  I  dictate,  this  moment  a  letter 

To  Monsieur — you  know  who  ! "    The  Lady  looked  bhie 
But  replied  with  much  firmness — "  Hang  me  if  I  do ! " 

De  Guise  grasp'd  her  wrist    With  his  great  bony  fist, 
Ajid  pinch'd  it,  and  gave  it  so  painful  a  twist, 
That  his  hard,  iron  gauntlet  the  flesh  went  an  inch  in, — 
She  did  not  mind  death,  but  she  could  not  stand  pinching  ; 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote    This  polite  little  note  : — 

"  Dear  Mister  St  Megrin,    The  Chiefs  of  the  League  in 


THE  TRAGEDY.  87 

Our  house  mean  to  dine    This  evening  at  nine  ; 

I  shall,  soon  after  ten,    Slip  away  from  the  men, 
And  you'll  find  me  up-stairs  in  the  drawing-room  then  ; 
Come  up  the  back  way,  or  those  impudent  thieves 
Of  Servants  will  see  you ;  Yours, 

CATHERINE  OF  CLEVES." 
She  directed  and  seal'd  it,  all  pale  as  a  ghost, 
And  De  Guise  put  it  into  the  Twopenny  Post. 

St.  Megrin  had  almost  jump'd  out  of  his  skin 
For  joy  that  day  when  the  post  came  in  ; 

He  read  the  note  through,    Then  began  it  anew, 
And  thought  it  almost  too  good  news  to  be  true. — 

He  clapp'd  on  his  hat,    And  a  hood  over  that, 
With  a  cloak  to  disguise  him,  and  make  him  look  fat. 
So  great  his  impatience,  from  half  after  Four 
He  was  waiting  till  Ten  at  De  Guise's  back-door. 
When  he  heard  the  great  clock  of  St.  Genevieve  chime, 
He  ran  up  the  back  staircase  six  steps  at  a  time. 

He  had  scarce  made  his  bow,    He  hardly  knew  how, 

When  alas  !  and  alack  !    There  was  no  getting  back, 
For  the  drawing-room  door  was  bang'd  to  with  a  whack  ; — 

In  vain  he  applied    To  the  handle  and  tried, 
Somebody  or  other  had  lock'd  it  outside  ! 
And  the  Duchess  in  agony  mourn'd  her  mishap, 
"  We  are  caught  like  a  couple  of  rats  in  a  trap." 

Now  the  Duchess's  Page,    About  twelve  years  of  age, 
For  so  little  a  boy  was  remarkably  sage ; 
And  just  in  the  nick,  to  their  joy  and  amazement, 
Popp'd  the  Gas-lighter's  ladder  close  under  the  casement. 

But  all  would  not  do, —    Though  St.  Megrin  got  through 
The  window, — below  stood  De  Guise  and  his  crew, 
And  though  never  man  was  more  brave  than  St.  Megrin, 
Yet  fighting  a  score  is  extremely  fatiguing ; 

He  thrust  carte  and  tierce    Uncommonly  fierce, 
But  not  Beelzebub's  self  could  their  cuirasses  pierce  ; 

While  his  doublet  and  hose,    Being  holiday  clothes, 
Were  soon  cut  through  and  through  from  his  knees  to  hia 

nose; 

Still  an  old  crooked  sixpence  the  Conjuror  gave  him, 
From  pistol  and  sword  was  sufficient  to  save  him ; 


88  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But  when  beat  on  his  knees,    That  confounded  De  Guise 
Came  behind  with  the  "  fogle  "  that  caused  all  this  breeze, 
Whipp'd  it  tight  round  his  neck,  and  when  backward  he'd 

jerk'd  him, 

The  rest  of  the  rascals  jump'd  on  him  and  Burk'd  him. 
The  poor  little  Page,  too,  himself  got  no  quarter,  but 

Served  the  same  way,    And  was  found  the  next  day 
With  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  his  head  in  the  water-butt ; 

Catherine  of  Cleves     Roar'd  "  Murder  ! "  and  "  Thieves !  " 

From  the  window  above,    While  they  murder'd  her  love  ; 
Till,  finding  the  rogues  had  accomplish'd  his  slaughter, 
She  drank  Prussic  acid  without  any  water, 
And  died  like  a  Duke-and-a-Duchess's  daughter ! 

MORAL. 

Take  warning,  ye  fair,  from  this  tale  of  the  Bard's, 

And  don't  go  where  fortunes  are  told  on  the  cards, 

But  steer  clear  of  Conjurors, — never  put  query 

To  "  Wise  Mrs.  Williams,"  or  folks  like  Ruggieri. 

When  alone  in  your  room  shut  the  door  close,  and  lock  it ! 

Above  all, — KEEP  YOUR  HANDKERCHIEF  SAFE  IN  YOUR  POCKET; 

Lest  you  too  should  stumble,  and  Lord  Leveson  Gower,  he 

Bo  call'd  on, — sad  poet ! — to  tell  your  sad  story ! 


iSarmp  iftaijuire'si  gcnwnt  of  tfje 
Coronation. 

AlB. — "  The  Groves  of  Blarney." 
OCH  !  the  Coronation  !  what  celebration 

For  emulation  can  with  it  compare  ? 
When  to  Westminster  the  Royal  Spinster, 

And  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  all  in  order  did  repair ! 
Twas  there  you'd  see  the  new  Polishemen 

Making  a  skrimmage  at  half  after  four, 
And  the  Lords  and  Ladies,  and  the  Miss  O'Gradys 

All  standing  round  before  the  Abbey  door. 

Their  pillows  scorning,  that  self-same  morning 
Themselves  adorning,  all  by  the  candle-light, 


THE  CORONATION.  89 

With  roses  and  lilies,  and  daffy-down-dillies, 
And  gould,  and  jewels,  and  rich  di'monds  bright. 

And  then  approaches  five  hundred  coaches, 
With  General  Dullbeak. — Och !  'twas  mighty  fine 

To  see  how  asy  bould  Corporal  Casey, 
With  his  sword  drawn,  prancing  made  them  kape  the  line. 

Then  the  Guns'  alarums,  and  the  King  of  Arums, 

All  in  his  Garters  and  his  Clarence  shoes, 
Opening  the  massy  doors  to  the  bould  Ambassydors, 

The  Prince  of  Potboys,  and  great  haythen  Jews  ; 
Twould  have  made  you  crazy  to  see  Esterhazy 

All  jool's  from  his  jasey  to  his  di'mond  boots, 
With  Alderman  Harmer,  and  that  swate  charmer, 

The  famale  heiress,  Miss  Anja-ly  Coutts. 

And  Wellington,  walking  with  his  swoord  drawn,  talking 

To  Hill  and  Hardinge,  haroes  of  great  fame  : 
And  Sir  De  Lacy,  and  the  Duke  Dalmasey 

(They  call'd  him  Sowlt  afore  he  changed  his  name), 
Themselves  presading,  Lord  Melbourne,  lading 

The  Queen,  the  darling,  to  her  royal  chair ; 
And  that  fine  ould  fellow,  the  Duke  of  Pell-Mello, 

The  Queen  of  Portingal's  Chargy-de-fair. 

Then  the  Noble  Prussians,  likewise  the  Russians, 

In  fine  laced  jackets  with  their  goulden  cuffs, 
And  the  Bavarians,  and  the  proud  Hungarians, 

And  Everythingarians  all  in  furs  and  muffs. 
Then  Misthur  Spaker,  with  Misthur  Pays  the  Quaker, 

All  in  the  Gallery  you  might  persave  ; 
But  Lord  Brougham  was  missing,  and  gone  a-fishing, 

Ounly  crass  Lord  Essex  would  not  give  him  lave. 

There  was  Baron  Alten  himself  exalting, 

And  Prince  Von  Schwartzenberg,  and  many  more, 
Och !  I'd  be  bother'd  and  entirely  smother'd 

To  tell  the  half  of  'em  was  to  the  fore ; 
With  the  swate  Peeresses,  in  their  crowns  and  dresses, 

And  Aldermanessas,  and  the  Boord  of  Works  ; 
But  Mehemet  Ali  said,  quite  gintaly, 

"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  the  likes  among  the  Turks  ! 


90  THE  INGOLDSBy  LEGENDS. 

Then  the  Queen,  Heaven  bless  her !  och !  they  did  dress  her 

In  her  purple  garaments  and  her  goulden  Crown  ; 
Like  Venus  or  Hebe,  or  the  Queen  of  Sheby, 

With  eight  young  ladies  houlding  up  her  gown. 
Sure  'twas  grand  to  see  her,  also  for  to.he-ar 

The  big  drums  bating,  and  the  trumpets  blow ; 
And  Sir  George  Smart !  Oh  I  he  play'd  a  Consarto, 

With  his  four-and-twenty  fiddlers  all  on  a  row  ! 

Then  the  Lord  Archbishop  held  a  goulden  dish  up, 

For  to  resave  her  bounty  and  great  wealth, 
Saying,  "  Plase  your  Glory,  great  Queen  Vic-tory ! 

Ye'll  give  the  Clargy  lave  to  dhrink  your  health ! " 
Then  his  Riverence  retrating,  discoorsed  the  mating  ; 

"  Boys !    Here's  your  Queen  !  deny  it  if  you  can ! 
And  if  any  bould  traitour,  or  infarior  craythur, 

Sneezes  at  that,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  I " 

Then  the  Nobles  kneeling  to  the  PoVrs  appealing, 

"  Heaven  send  your  Majesty  a  glorious  reign ! " 
And  Sir  Claudius  Hunter  he  did  confront  her, 

All  in  his  scarlet  gown  and  goulden  chain. 
The  great  Lord  MayV,  too,  sat  in  his  chair,  too, 

But  mighty  sarious,  looking  fit  to  cry, 
For  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  all  in  his  hurry, 

Throwing  the  thirteens,  hit  him  in  his  eye. 

Then  there  was  preaching,  and  good  store  of  speeching, 

With  Dukes  and  Marquises  on  bended  knee  : 
And  they  did  splash  her  with  raal  Macasshur, 

And  the  Queen  said,  "  Ah  !  then  thank  ye  all  for  me  !  "-- 
Then  the  trumpets  braying,  and  the  organ  playing, 

And  sweet  trombones,  with  their  silver  tones  ; 
But  Lord  Rolle  was  rolling  ; — 'twas  mighty  consoling 

To  think  his  Lordship  did  not  break  his  bones  ! 

Then  the  crames  and  custard,  and  the  beef  and  mustard, 
All  on  the  tombstones  like  a  poultherer's  shop ; 

With  lobsters  and  white-bait,  and  other  swate-meats, 
And  wine  and  nagus,  and  Imperial  Pop ! 

There  was  cakes  and  apples  in  all  the  Chapels, 
With  fine  polonies,  and  rich  mellow  pears — 


"  THE  MONSTRL  "  BALLOON.  91 

Och  !  the  Count  Von  Strogonoff,  sure  he  got  prog  enough, 
The  sly  ould  Divil,  undernathe  the  stairs. 

Then  the  cannons  thunder'd,  and  the  people  wonder'd, 

Crying,  "  God  save  Victoria,  our  Royal  Queen ! "— 
— Och  !  if  myself  should  live  to  be  a  hundred, 

Sure  it's  the  proudest  day  that  I'll  have  seen ! 
And  now,  I've  ended,  what  I  pretended, 

This  narration  splendid  in  swate  poe-thry, 
Ye  dear  bewitcher,  just  hand  the  pitcher, 

Faith,  it's  myself  that's  getting  mighty  dhry." 


Cfje  "Jttmtstre"  iSalioon. 


OH  !  the  balloon,  the  great  balloon 

It  left  Vauxhall  one  Monday  at  noon, 

And  every  one  said  we  should  hear  of  it  soon 

With  news  from  Aleppo  or  Scanderoon. 

But  very  soon  after  folks  changed  their  tune  : 

"  The  netting  had  burst  —  the  silk  —  the  shalloon  ;  — 

It  had  met  with  a  trade-  wind  —  a  deuced  monsoon  — 

It  was  blown  out  to  sea  —  it  was  blown  to  the  moon— 

They  ought  to  have  put  off  their  journey  till  June  ; 

Sure  none  but  a  donkey,  a  goose,  or  baboon 

Would  go  up  in  November  in  any  balloon  !  " 

Then  they  talk'd  about  Green  —  "  Oh  !  where's  Mister  Green  1 

And  where's  Mr.  Holland  who  hired  the  machine  ? 

And  where  is  Monck  Mason  the  man  that  has  been 

Up  so  often  before  —  twelve  miles  or  thirteen  — 

And  who  writes  such  nice  letters  describing  the  scene  ? 

And  where's  the  cold  fowl,  and  the  ham,  and  poteen  ? 

The  press'd  beef,  with  the  fat  cut  off—  nothing  but  lean, 

And  the  portable  soup  in  the  patent  tureen  t 

Have  they  got  to  Grand  Cairo  or  reached  Aberdeen  ? 

Or  Jerusalem  —  Hamburg  —  or  Ballyporeen  ? 

No  !  they  have  not  been  seen  1    Oh  !  they  haven't  been  seen  I 

Stay  !  here's  Mr/Gye  —  Mr.  Frederick  Gye  — 
"  At  Paris,"  says  he,  "  I've  been  up  very  high, 


92  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

A  couple  of  hundred  of  toises,  or  nigh, 
A  cockstride  the  Tuileries'  pantiles,  to  spy 
With  Dollond's  best  telescope  stuck  at  my  eye, 
And  my  umbrella  under  my  arm  like  Paul  Pry, 
But  I  could  see  nothing  at  all  but  the  sky  ; 
So  I  thought  with  myself  t'was  of  no  use  to  try 
Any  longer  ;  and,  feeling  remarkably  dry 
From  sitting  all  day  stuck  up  there,  like  a  Guy, 
I  came  down  again,  and — you  see— here  am  I ! " 

But  here's  Mr.  Hughes ! — What  says  young  Mr.  Hughes  ?  - 
"  Why,  I'm  sorry  to  say  we've  not  got  any  news 
Since  the  letter  they  threw  down  in  one  of  their  shoes, 
Which  gave  the  Mayor's  nose  such  a  deuce  of  a  bruise, 
As  he  popp'd  up  his  eye-glass  to  look  at  their  cruise 
Over  Dover  ;  and  which  the  folks  flock'd  to  peruse 
At  Squiers's  bazaar,  the  same  evening,  in  crews — 
Politicians,  news-mongers,  town-council  and  blues, 
Turks,  Heretics,  Infidels,  Jumpers,  and  Jews, 
Scorning  Bachelor's  papers,  and  Warren's  reviews  ; 
But  the  wind  was  then  blowing  towards  Helvoetsluys, 
And  my  father  and  I  are  in  terrible  stews, 
For  so  large  a  balloon  is  a  sad  thing  to  lose  !  "— 

Here's  news  come  at  last ; — Here's  news  come  at  last ! — 
A  vessel's  come  in,  which  has  sail'd  very  fast ; 
And  a  gentleman  serving  before  the  mast- 
Mister  Nokes— has  declared  that  "  the  party  has  past 
Safe  across  to  the  Hague,  where  their  grapnel  they  cast, 
As  a  fat  burgomaster  was  staring  aghast 
To  see  such  a  monster  come  borne  on  the  blast, 
And  it  caught  in  his  waistband,  and  there  it  stuck  fast  !  "- 
O  fie  !  Mister  Nokes, — for  shame,  Mr.  Nokes  ! 
To  be  poking  your  fun  at  us  plain -dealing  folks — 
Sir,  this  isn't  a  time  to  bo  cracking  your  jokes, 
And  such  jesting  your  malice  but  scurvily  cloaks ; 
Such  a  trumpery  tale  every  one  of  us  smokes, 
And  we  know  very  well  your  whole  story's  a  hoax ! — 

"  Oh !  what  shall  we  do  ?— Oh !  where  will  it  end  ?— 

Can  nobody  go  1 — Can  nobody  send 

To  Calais — or  Bergen-op-zoom — or  Ostend  ? 


THE  "MONSTEE"  BALLOON.  93 

Can't  you  go  there  yourself  ?— Can't  you  write  to  a  friend, 
For  news  upon  which  we  may  safely  depend  1 " — 

Huzza  !  huzza !  one  and  eight-pence  to  pay 

For  a  letter  from  Hamborough,  just  come  to  say 

They  descended  at  Weilburg,  about  break  of  day  ; 

And  they've  lent  them  the  palace  there,  during  their  stay, 

And  the  town  is  becoming  uncommonly  gay, 

And  they're  feasting  the  party,  and  soaking  their  clay 

With  Johannisberg,  Rudesheim,  Moselle,  and  Tokay, 

And  the  Landgraves,  and  Margraves,  and  Counts  beg  and  pray 

That  they  won't  think,  as  yet,  about  going  away  ; 

Notwithstanding,  they  don't  mean  to  make  much  delay, 

But  pack  up  the  balloon  in  a  waggon,  or  dray, 

And  pop  themselves  into  a  German  "  po-shay," 

And  get  on  to  Paris  by  Lisle  and  Tournay  ; 

Where  they  boldly  declare,  any  wager  they'll  lay, 

If  the  gas  people  there  do  not  ask  them  to  pay 

Such  a  sum  as  must  force  them  at  once  to  say  "  Nay," 

They'll  inflate  the  balloon  in  the  Champs-Elysees, 

And  be  back  again  here  the  beginning  of  May. — 

Dear  me  !  what  a  treat  for  a  juvenile  fete .' 

What  thousands  will  flock  their  arrival  to  greet ! 

There'll  be  hardly  a  soul  to  be  seen  in  the  street, 

For  at  Vauxhall  the  whole  population  will  meet, 

And  you'll  scarcely  get  standing-room,  much  less  a  seat, 

For  this  all  preceding  attraction  must  beat : 

Since,  they'll  unfold,  what  we  want  to  be  told, 

How  they  cough'd — hctv  they  sneez'd, — how  they  shiver'd  with 

cold, — 

How  they  tippled  the  "  cordial "  as  racy  and  old 
As  Hodges,  or  Deady,  or  Smith  ever  sold, 
And  how  they  all  then  felt  remarkably  bold  : 
How  they  thought  the  boil'd  beef  worth  its  own  weight  in  gold  ; 
And  how  Mr.  Green  was  beginning  to  scold 
Because  Mr.  Mason  would  try  to  lay  hold 
Of  the  moon,  and  had  very  near  overboard  roll'd ! 

And  there  they'll  be  seen — they'll  be  all  to  be  seen  ! 
The  great-coats,  the  coffee-pot,  mugs,  and  tureen  ! 
With  the  tight-rope,  and  fire-works,  and  dancing  between, 
If  the  weather  should  only  prove  fair  and  serene  ; 


94  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  there,  on  a  beautiful  transparent  screen, 

In  the  middle  you'll  see  a  large  picture  of  Green, 

Mr.  Holland  on  one  side,  who  hired  the  machine, 

Mr.  Mason  on  t'other,  describing  the  scene  ; 

And  Fame,  on  one  leg,  in  the  air,  like  a  queen, 

With  three  wreaths  and  a  trumpet,  will  over  them  lean  ; 

While  Envy,  in  serpents  and  black  bombazin, 

Looks  on  from  below  with  an  air  of  chagrin ! 

Then  they'll  play  up  a  tune  in  the  Royal  Saloon, 

And  the  people  will  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

And  keep  up  the  ball  till  the  next  day  at  noon  ; 

And  the  peer  and  the  peasant,  the  lord  and  the  loon, 

The  haughty  grandee,  and  the  low  picaroon, 

The  six-foot  life -guardsman,  and  little  gossoon, 

Will  all  join  in  three  cheers  for  the  "  Monstre  "  Balloon. 


THE    EXECUTION. 
A      8POETINO      ANECDOTE. 

MY  Lord  Tomnoddy  got  up  one  day ; 

It  was  half  after  two,    He  had  nothing  to  do, 

So  his  Lordship  rang  for  his  cabriolet. 

Tiger  Tim    Was  clean  of  limb, 
His  boots  were  polish'd,  his  jacket  was  trim  ; 
With  a  very  smart  tie  in  his  smart  cravat, 
And  a  smart  cockade  on  the  top  of  his  hat  j 
Tallest  of  boys  or  shortest  of  men, 
He  stood  in  his  stockings  just  four  foot  ten  ; 
And  he  ask'd,  as  he  held  the  door  on  the  swiug,. 
"  Pray,  did  your  Lordship  please  to  ring  ? " 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  he  raised  his  head, 
And  thus  to  Tiger  Tim  he  said, 

"  Malibran's  dead,    Duvet-nay's  fled, 
Taglioni  has  not  yet  arrived  in  her  stead ; 

Tiger  Tim,  come,  tell  me  true, 
What  may  a  Nobleman  find  to  do  1 "— 


THE  EXECUTION. 

Tim  look'd  up,  and  Tim  look'd  down, 

He  paused,  and  he  put  on  a  thoughtful  frown. 

And  he  held  up  his  hat,  and  he  peep'd  in  the  crown  ; 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  he  scratch'd  his  head, 

He  let  go  the  handle,  and  thus  he  said, 

As  the  door,  released,  behind  him  bang'd  : 

"  An't  please  you,  my  Lord,  there's  a  man  to  be  hang'd." 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  jump'd  up  at  the  news, 

"  Run  to  M'Fuze,    And  Lieutenant  Tregooze, 

And  run  to  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues. 
Rope-dancers  a  score    I've  seen  before — 

Madame  Sacchi,  Antonio,  and  Master  Black-more  ; 
But  to  see  a  man  swing    At  the  end  of  a  string, 

With  his  neck  in  a  noose,  will  be  quite  a  new  thing." 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  stept  into  his  cab — 
Dark  rifle  green,  with  a  lining  of  drab ; 
p        Through  street  and  through  square, 

His  high-trotting  mare, 
Like  one  of  Ducrow's,  goes  pawing  the  air. 
Adown  Piccadilly  and  Waterloo  Place 
Went  the  high-trotting  mare  at  a  very  quick  pace ; 

She  produced  some  alarm,    But  did  no  great  harm, 
Save  frightening  a  nurse  with  a  child  on  her  arm, 

Spattering  with  clay    Two  urchins  at  play. 
Knocking  down— very  much  to  the  sweeper's  dismay — 
An  old  woman  who  wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way, 

And  upsetting  a  stall    Near  Exeter  Hall, 
Which  made  all  the  pious  Church-Mission  folks  squall, 

But  Eastward  afar    Through  Temple.Bar, 
My  Lord  Tomnoddy  directs  his  car  ; 

Never  heeding  their  squalls, 

Or  their  calls,  or  their  bawls, 
He  passes  by  Waithman's  Emporium  for  shawls, 
And,  merely  just  catching  a  glimpse  of  St.  Paul's, 

Turns  down  the  Old  Bailey, 

Where  in  front  of  the  gaol,  he 
Pulls  up  at  the  door  of  a  gin-shop,  and  gaily 
Cries,  "  What  must  I  fork  out  to-night,  my  trump, 
For  the  whole  first  floor  of  the  Magpie  and  Stump  ?  " 


I  THE  INGOLDSRY  LEGENDS. 

The  clock  strikes  Twelve — it  is  dark  midnight — 
Yet  the  Magpie  and  Stump  is  one  blaze  of  light. 

The  parties  are  met ;    The  tables  are  set ; 
There  is  "  punch,"  "cold  without"  "hot  with"  heavy  wet, 

Ale-glasses  and  jugs,    And  rummers  and  mugs, 
And  sand  on  the  floor,  without  carpets  or  rugs, 

Cold  fowl  and  cigars,    Pickled  onions  in  jars, 
Welsh  rabbits  and  kidneys — rare  work  for  the  jaws  : — 
And  very  large  lobsters  with  very  large  claws  ; 

And  there  is  M'Fuze,    And  Lieutenant  Tregooze  ; 
And  there  is  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues, 
All  come  to  see  a  man  "  die  in  his  shoes  ! " 

The  clock  strikes  One  ?    Supper  is  done, 
And  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  full  of  his  fun, 
Singing  "  Jolly  companions  every  one  <\ " 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  is  drinking  gin-toddy, 
And  laughing  at  ev'ry  thing,  and  ev'ry  body. — 
The  clock  strikes  Two  !  and  the  clock  strikes  Three ! 
— "  Who  so  merry,  so  merry  as  we  ? " 

SavekCaptain  M'Fuze,    Who  is  taking  a  snooze, 
While  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  busy  at  work, 
Blacking  his  nose  with  a  piece  of  burnt  cork. 

The  clock  strikes  Four  ! —    Hound  the  debtors'  door 
Are  gather'd  a  couple  of  thousand  or  more ; 

As  many  await    At  the  press-yard  gate, 
Till  slowly  its  folding  doors  open,  and  straight 
The  mob  divides,  and  between  their  ranks 
A  waggon  comes  loaded  with  posts  and  with  planks. 

The  clock  strikes  Five  1    The  Sheriffs  arrive, 
And  the  crowd  is  so  great  that  the  street  seems  alive ; 

But  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks    Blinks,  and  winks, 
A  candle  burns  down  in  the  socket,  and  stinks, 

Lieutenant  Tregooze    Is  dreaming  of  Jews, 
And  acceptances  all  the  bill-brokers  refuse  ; 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy    Has  drunk  all  his  toddy, 
And  just  as  the  dawn  is  beginning  to  peep, 
The  whole  of  the  party  are  fast  asleep. 

Sweetly,  oh  !  sweetly,  the  morning  breaks, 
With  roseate  streaks, 


THE  EXECUTION. 

Like  the  first  faint  blush,  on  a  maiden's  cheeks  ; 

Seem'd  as  that  mild  and  clear  blue  sky 

Smil'd  upon  all  things  far  and  high, 

On  all — save  the  wretch  condemn'd  to  die  ! 

Alack !    that  ever  so  fair  a  Sun, 

As  that  which  its  course  has  now  begun, 

Should  rise  on  such  a  scene  of  misery  ! — 

Should  gild  with  rays  so  light  and  free 

That  dismal,  dark-frowning  Gallows-tree ! 

And  hark ! — a  sound  comes,  big  with  fate  ; 

The  clock  from  St.  Sepulchre's  tower  strikes—  Eight  1- 

List  to  that  low  funereal  bell : 

It  is  tolling,  alas !  a  living  man's  knell ! 

And  see ! — from  forth  that  opening  door 

They  come— HE  steps  that  threshold  o'er 

Who  never  shall  tread  upon  threshold  more 

—God !  'tis  a  fearsome  thing  to  see 

That  pale  wan  man's  mute  agony, — 

The  glare  of  that  wild,  despairing  eye, 

Now  bent  on  the  crowd,  now  turn'd  to  the  sky 

As  though  'twere  scanning,  in  doubt  and  in  fear. 

The  path  of  the  Spirit's  unknown  career  : 

Those  pinion'd  arms,  those  hands  that  ne'er 

Shall  be  lifted  again, — not  even  in  prayer ; 

That  heaving  chest ! — Enough — 'tis  done  ! 

The  bolt  has  fallen !— the  spirit  is  gone— 

For  weal  or  for  woe  is  known  but  to  One  '  — 

—Oh  !  'twas  a  fearsome  sight  !— Ah  me  I 

A  deed  to  shudder  at, — not  to  see. 

Again  that  clock  1  'tis  time,  'tis  time  1 
The  hour  is  past :  with  its  earliest  chime 
The  cord  is  sever'd,  the  lifeless  clay 
By  '*  dungeon  villains  "  is  borne  away  : 
Nine ! — 'twas  the  last  concluding  stroke ! 
And  then— my  Lord  Tomnoddy  awoke ! 
And  Tregooze  and  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  arose, 
And  Captain  M'Fuze,  with  the  black  on  his  noee  ; 
And  they  stared  at  each  other,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Hollo  !  Hollo  !    Here's  a  rum  Gu ! 


98  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Why,  Captain  !— my  Lord  !— Here's  the  devil  to  pay! 
The  fellow's  been  cut  down  and  taken  away  ! 

What's  to  be  done  ?    We've  missed  all  the  fun  !— 
Why,  they'll  laugh  at  and  quiz  us  all  over  the  town, 
We  are  all  of  us  done  so  uncommonly  brown ! " 

What  was  to  be  done  ?— 'twas  perfectly  plain 
They  could  not  well  hang  the  man  over  again : 
What  was  to  be  done  ?— The  man  was  dead  ! 
Nought  could  be  done— nought  could  be  said  ; 
So— my  Lord  Tomnoddy  went  home  to  bed ! 


gcrount  of  a  Jieto  pap, 


IN  A  FAMILIAR  EPISTLE  TO  MY  BROTHER-IN-LAW,  LIEUT.  SEA- 
FORTH,  H.P.,  LATE  OP  THE  HON.  KI.C.'S  2ND  REGT.  OP 
BOMBAY  FENCIBLES. 

"  The  play'a  the  thing  !—  "  Hamlet. 

Tavistock  Hotel,  Nov.,  1839. 
DEAB  CHARLES, 

—In  reply  to  your  letter,  and  Fanny's, 
Lord  Brougham,  it  appears,  isn't  dead,—  though  Queen  Anno 

is; 

'Twas  a  "  plot  "  and  a  "  farce  "  —  you  hate  farces,  you  say  — 
Take  another  "  plot,"  then  —  viz.,  the  plot  of  the  Play. 
The  Countess  of  Arundel,  high  in  degree, 
As  a  lady  possess'd  of  an  earldom  in  fee, 
Was  imprudent  enough,  at  fifteen  years  of  age, 
—A  period  of  life  when  we're  not  over-sage,— 
To  form  a  liaison—  in  fact,  to  engage 
Her  hand  to  the  hop-o-'my-thmnb  of  a  Page. 

This  put  her  Papa  —    She  had  no  Mamma, 
As  may  well  be  supposed  —  in  a  deuce  of  a  rage. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Franklin  was  wont  to  repeat, 

In  his  budget  of  proverbs,  "  Stol'n  kisses  are  sweet  1  " 

But  they  have  their  alloy  —    Fate  assumed,  to  annoy 
Miss  Arundel's  peace,  and  embitter  her  joy, 
The  equivocal  shape  of  a  fine  little  Boy. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAY.  <J9 

When,  through  the  "  young  stranger,"  her  secret  took  wind 
The  old  Lord  was  neither  "  to  haud  nor  to  bind." 

He  bounced  up  and  down,    And  so  fearful  a  frown 
Contracted  his  brow,  you'd  have  thought  he'd  been  blind. 

The  young  lady,  they  say,    Having  fainted  away, 
Was  confined  to  her  room  for  the  whole  of  that  day ; 
While  her  beau— no  rare  thing  in  the  old  feudal  system — 
Disappear^  the  next  morning,  and  nobody  miss'd  him. 

The  fact  is,  his  Lordship,  who  hadn't,  it  seems, 
Form'd  the  slightest  idea,  not  eVn  in  his  dreams, 
That  the  pair  had  been  wedded  according  to  law, 
Conceived  that  his  daughter  had  made  a.  faux  pas  ; 

So  he  bribed  at  a  high  rate    A  sort  of  a  Pirate 
To  knock  out  the  poor  dear  young  Gentleman's  brains, 
And  gave  him  a  handsome  douceur  for  his  pains. 
The  Page  thus  disposed  of,  his  Lordship  now  turns 
His  attention  at  once  to  the  Lady's  concerns ; 

And,  alarm'd  for  the  future,    Looks  out  for  a  suitor. 
One  not  fond  of  raking,  nor  giv'n  to  "  the  pewter," 
But  adapted  to  act  both  the  husband  and  tutor- 
Finds  a  highly  respectable,  middle-aged  widower, 
Marries  her  off,  and  thanks  Heaven  that  he's  rid  of  her. 

Believed  from  his  cares,    The  old  Peer  now  prepares 
To  arrange  in  good  earnest  his  worldly  affairs  ; 
Has  his  will  made  anew  by  a  Special  Attorney, 
Sickens, — takes  to  his  bed, — and  sets  out  on  his  journey. 

Which  way  he  travell'd,    Has  not  been  unravell'd  ; 
To  speculate  much  on  the  point  were  too  curious, 
If  the  climate  he  reach'd  were  serene  or  sulphureous. 
To  be  sure  in  his  balance-sheet  all  must  declare 
One  item — the  Page — was  an  awkward  affair ; 
But  per  contra,  he'd  lately  endow'd  a  new  Chantry 
For  Priests,  with  ten  marks,  and  the  run  of  the  pantry. 

Be  that  as  it  may,    It's  sufficient  to  say 
That  his  tomb  in  the  chancel  stands  there  to  this  day, 
Built  of  Bethersden  marble— a  dark  bluish-grey. 
The  figure,  a  fine  one  of  pure  alabaster, 
Some  cleanly  churchwarden  has  cover'd  with  pkster  : 

While  some  Vandal  or  Jew,    With  a  taste  for  virtu, 
Has  knock'd  off  his  toes,  to  place,  I  suppose, 
In  some  Pickwick  Museum,  with  part  of  his  nose ; 


IOC  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

From  his  belt  and  his  sword    And  his  misericords 
The  enamel's  been  chipp'd  out,  and  never  restored ; 
His  ci-gtt  in  old  French  is  inscribed  all  around, 
And  his  head's  in  his  helm,  and  his  heel's  on  his  hound, 
The  palms  of  his  hands,  as  if  going  to  pray, 
Are  join'd  and  upraised  o'er  his  bosom — But  stay ! 
I  forgot  that  his  tomb's  not  described  in  the  Play  ! 


Lady  Arundel,  now  in  her  own  right  a  Peeress, 
Perplexes  her  noddle  with  no  such  nice  queries, 
But  produces  in  time,  to  her  husband's  great  joy, 
Another  remarkably  "  fine  little  boy." 

As  novel  connections    Oft  change  the  affections, 
And  turn  all  one's  love  into  different  directions, 
Now  to  young  "  Johnny  Newcome  "  she  seems  to  confine  hers, 
Neglecting  the  poor  little  dear  out  at  dry-nurse  ; 

Nay,  far  worse  than  that,    She  considers  "  the  brat " 
As  a  bore — fears  her  husband  may  smell  out  a  rat. 

For  her  legal  adviser    She  takes  an  old  Miser, 
A  sort  of  "  poor  cousin."    She  might  have  been  wiser ; 

For  this  arrant  deceiver,    By  name  Maurice  Beevor, 
A  shocking  old  scamp,  should  her  own  issue  fail, 
By  the  law  of  the  land  stands  the  next  in  entail : 
So,  as  soon  as  she  ask'd  him  to  hit  on  some  plan 
To  provide  for  her  eldest,  away  the  rogue  ran 
To  that  self-same  unprincipled  sea-faring  man ; 
In1  his  ear  whisper'd  low    *  *  *  —  "  Bully  Gaussen      said 

"  Done  1— 
I  Burk'd  the  papa,  now  I'll  Bishop  the  son ! " 

Twas  agreed ;  and,  with  speed    To  accomplish  the  deed, 
He  adopted  a  scheme  he  was  sure  would  succeed. 

By  long  cock-and-bull  stories,    Of  Candish  and  Noreys, 
Of  Drake,  and  bold  Raleigh  (then  fresh  in  his  glories, 
Acquired  'mongst  the  Indians,  and  Rapparee  Tories), 

He  so  work'd  on  the  lad,    That  he  left,  which  was  bad, 
The  only  true  friend  in  the  world  that  he  had, 
Father  Onslow,  a  priest,  though  to  quit  him  most  loth, 
Who  in  childhood  had  furnish'd  his  pap  and  his  broth, 
At  no  small  risk  of  scandal,  indeed,  to  his  cloth. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAT.  101 

The  kidnapping  crimp    Took  the  foolish  young  imp 
On  board  of  his  cutter  so  trim  and  so  jimp, 
Then,  seizing  him  just  as  you'd  handle  a  shrimp, 
Twirl'd  him  thrice  in  the  air  with  a  whirligig  motion, 
And  soused  him  at  once  neck  and  heels  in  the  ocean  : 

This  was  off  Plymouth  Sound 

And  he  must  have  been  drown'd, 
For  'twas  nonsense  to  think  he  could  swim  to  dry  ground, 

If  "  A  very  great  Warman,    Call'd  Billy  the  Norman," 
Had  not  just  at  that  moment  sail'd  by,  outward  bound. 

A  shark  of  great  size,     With  his  great  glassy  eyes, 
Sheer'd  off  as  he  came,  and  relinquish'd  the  prize : 
So  he  pick'd  up  the  lad,*  swabb'd  and  dry-rubb'd,  and  mopp'd 

him, 
And,  having  no  children,  resolved  to  adopt  him. 

Full  many  a  year    Did  he  hand,  reef,  and  steer, 
And  by  no  means  consider'd  himself  as  small  beer, 
When  old  Norman  at  length  died  and  left  him  his  frigate, 
With  lots  of  pistoles  in  his  coffer  to  rig  it. 

A  sailor  ne'er  moans  ;    So,  consigning  the  bones 
Of  his  friend  to  the  locker  of  one  Mr.  Jones, 

For  England  he  steers.  —    On  the  voyage  it  appears 
That  he  rescued  a  maid  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers  ; 
And  at  length  reach'd  the  Sussex  coast,  where,  in  a  bay, 
Not  a  great  way  from  Brighton,  most  cosey-ly  lay 
His  vessel  at  anchor  the  very  same  day 
That  the  Poet  begins — thus  commencing  his  play : 

ACT  L 

Giles  Gaussen  accosts  old  Sir  Maurice  de  Beevor, 
And  puts  the  poor  Knight  in  a  deuce  of  a  fever, 
By  saying  the  boy,  whom  he  took  ont  to  please  him, 
Is  come  back  a  Captain  on  purpose  to  tease  him. — 
Sir  Maurice,  who  gladly  would  see  Mr.  Gaussen 
Breaking  stones  on  the  highway,  or  sweeping  a  crossing, 

*  An  incident  very  like  one  in  Jack  Sheppard — 
A  work  some  have  lauded,  and  others  nave  pepper'd — 
Where  a  Dutch  pirate  kidnaps,  and  tosses  Thames  Darrel 
Just  so  in  the  sea,  and  he's  saved  by  a  barrel, — 
On  the  coast,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  its  flung  whole, 
And  the  hero,  half-drown'd,  scrambles  out  of  the  bung-hole. 
[It  ain't  no  sich  thing'!— the  hero  ain't  bung'd  in  no  barrel  at  all.— He's 
picked  up  by  a  captain,  just  as  Norman  was  arterwards.— PRINT.  DKV.) 


102  THE  1NGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Dissembles — observes,  It's  of  no  use  to  fret, — 
And  hints  he  may  find  some  more  work  for  him  yet ; 
Then  calls  at  the  castle,  and  tells  Lady  A. 
That  the  boy  they  had  ten  years  ago  sent  away 
Is  return'd  a  grown  man,  and,  to  come  to  the  point, 
Will  put  her  son  Percy's  nose  clean  out  of  joint ; 
But  adds,  that  herself  she  no  longer  need  vex, 
If  she'll  buy  him  (Sir  Maurice)  a  farm  near  the  Ex. 
"  Oh !  take  it,"  she  cries  ;  "  but  secure  every  document." — 
"  A   bargain,"   says    Maurice, — "  including    the    stock    you 
meant  1"— 

The  Captain,  meanwhile,    With  a  lover-like  smile, 
And  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief,  wipes  off  the  tears 
From  Miss  Violet's  eyelash,  and  hushes  her  fears 
(That's  the  Lady  he  saved  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers). 
Now  arises  a  delicate  point,  and  this  is  it — 
The  young  Lady  herself  is  but  down  on  a  visit. 

She's  perplex'd ;  and,  in  fact,    Does  not  know  how  to  act. 
It's  her  very  first  visit — and  then  to  begin 
By  asking  a  stranger — a  gentleman,  in — 
One  with  moustaches  too — and  a  tuft  on  his  chin — 

She  "  really  don't  know —    He  had  much  better  go," — 
Here  the  Countess  steps  in  from  behind,  and  says  "  No  ! — 
Fair  sir,  you  are  welcome,    Do,  pray,  stop  and  dine — 
You'll  take  our  pot-luck — and  we've  decentish  wine." 
He  bows,  looks  at  Miss, — and  he  does  not  decline. 

ACT  II. 

After  dinner  the  Captain  recounts,  with  much  glee, 
All  he's  heard,  seen,  and  done  since  he  first  went  to  sea, 

All  his  perils  and  scrapes,    And  his  hair-breadth  escapes, 
Talks  of  boa-constrictors,  and  lions,  and  apes, 
And  fierce  "  Bengal  Tigers,"  like  that  which,  you  know, 
If  you've  ever  seen  any  respectable  "  Show," 
"  Carried  off  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Munro." 
Then,  diverging  awhile,  he  adverts  to  the  mystery 
Which  hangs,  like  a  cloud,  o'er  his  own  private  history — 
How  he  ran  off  to  sea — how  they  set  him  afloat 
(Not  a  word,  though  of  barrel  or  bung-hole— See  Note). 

How  he  happen'd  to  meet    With  the  Algerine  fleet 
And  forced  them,  by  sheer  dint  of  arms,  to  retreat, 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAT.  103 

Thus  saving  his  Violet — (One  of  his  feet 

Here  just  touch'd  her  toe,  and  she  moved  on  her  seat), — 

How  his  vessel  was  batter'd—    In  short  he  so  chatter'd, 
Now  lively,  now  serious,  so  ogled  and  flatter'd, 
That  the  ladies  much  marvell'd  a  person  should  be  able 
To  "  make  himself,"  both  said,  "  so  very  agreeable." 
Captain  Norman's  adventures  were  scarcely  half  done, 
When  Percy  Lord  Ashdale,  her  ladyship's  son, 

In  a  terrible  fume,    Bounces  into  the  room, 
And  talks  to  his  guest  as  you'd  talk  to  your  groom, 
Claps   his  hand  on  his  rapier,  and  swears  he'll  be  through 

him — 
The  Captain  does  nothing  at  all  but  "  pooh  !  pooh !  "  him— 

Unable  to  smother    His  hate  of  his  brother, 
He  rails  at  his  cousin,  and  blows  up  his  mother. — 
"Fie  !  fie ! "  says  the  first— Says  the  latter,  "In  sooth, 
This  is  sharper  by  far  than  a  keen  serpent's  tooth ! " 
(A  remark,  by  the  way,  which  King  Lear  had  made  years  ago, 
When  he  ask'd  for  his  Knights,  and  his  Daughters  said,  "Here's 
ago!")- 

This  made  Ashdale  ashamed ;    but  he  must  not  be  blamed 
Too  much  for  his  warmth,  for  like  many  young  fellows,  he 
Was  apt  to  lose  temper  when  tortured  by  jealousy. 

Still  speaking  quite  gruff,    He  goes  off  in  a  huff ; 
Lady  A.,  who  is  now  what  some  call  "  up  to  snuff," 

Straight  determines  to  patch    Up  a  clandestine  match 
Between  the  Sea-Captain  she  dreads  like  Old  Scratch, 
And  Miss,— whom  she  does  not  think  any  great  catch 
For  Ashdale  ;— besides,  he  won't  kick  up  such  shindies 
Were  she  once  fairly  married  and  off  to  the  Indies. 

ACT  III. 

Miss  Violet  takes  from  the  Countess  her  tone  : 
She  agrees  to  meet  Norman  "  by  moonlight  alone," 

And  slip  off  to  his  bark,    "  The  night  being  dark," 
Though  "  the  moon,"  the  Sea-Captain  says,  rises  in  Heaven 
"  One  hour  before  midnight,"  i.e.  at  eleven. 

From  which  speech  I  infer,    —Though  perhaps  I  may 

err- 
That,  though  weatherwise,  doubtless,  midst  surges  and  surf,  he 
When  "  capering  on  shore  "  was  by  no  means  a  Murphy. 


104  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

He  starts  off,  however,  at  sunset,  to  reach 
An  old  chapel  in  ruins,  that  stands  on  the  beach, 
Where  the  Priest  is  to  bring,  as  he  promised  by  letter,  a 
Paper  to  prove  his  name,  "  birthright,"  <fec. 

Being  rather  too  late,    Gaussen,  lying  in  wait, 
Gives  poor  Father  Onslow  a  knock  on  the  pate, 
But  bolts,  seeing  Norman,  before  he  has  wrested 
From  the  hand  of  the  Priest,  as  Sir  Maurice  requested, 
The  marriage  certificate  duly  attested. — 
Norman  kneels  by  the  clergyman  fainting  and  gory, 
And  begs  he  won't  die  till  he's  told  him  his  story  ; 

The  Father  complies,    Re-opens  his  eyes, 
And  tells  him  all  how  and  about  it— and  dies  ! 

ACT  IV. 

Norman,  now  call'd  Le  Mesnil,  instructed  of  all, 
Goes  back,  though  it's  getting  quite  late  for  a  call, 
Hangs  his  hat  and  his  cloak  on  a  peg  in  the  hall, 
And  tells  the  proud  Countess  it's  useless  to  smother 
The  fact  any  longer— he  knows  she's  his  Mother  ! 

His  Pa's  wedded  Spouse. —    She  questions  his  vovy, 
And  threatens  to  have  him  turn'd  out  of  the  house. — 

He  still  perseveres,    Till,  in  spite  of  her  fears, 
She  admits  he's  the  son  she  had  cast  off  for  years, 
And  he  gives  her  the  papers  "  all  blister'd  with  tears," 
When  Ashdale,  who  chances  his  nose  in  to  poke, 

Takes  his  hat  and  his  cloak,    Just  as  if  in  a  joke, 
Determined  to  put  in  his  wheel  a  new  spoke, 
And  slips  off  thus  disguised,  when  he  sees  by  the  dial  it 
Is  time  for  the  rendezvous  fix'd  with  Miss  Violet.— 
—Captain  Norman,  who,  after  all,  feels  rather  sore 
At  his  mother's  reserve,  vows  to  see  her  no  more, 
Rings  the  bell  for  the  servant  to  open  the  door, 
And  leaves  his  Mamma  in  a  fit  on  the  floor. 

ACT  V. 

Now  comes  the  catastrophe  ! — Ashdale,  who's  wrapt  in 
The  cloak,  with  the  hat  and  the  plume  of  the  Captain, 
Leads  Violet  down  through  the  grounds  to  the  chapel 
Where  Gaussen's  conceal'd— he  springs  forward  to  grapple 


SOME  ACCOUNT  Off  A  NEW  PLAY.  105 

The  man  he's  erroneously  led  to  suppose 
Captain  Norman  himself  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes. 

In  the  midst  of  their  strife,    And  just  as  the  knife 
Of  the  Pirate  is  raised  to  deprive  him  of  life, 
The  Captain  comes  forward,  drawn  there  by  the  squeals 
Of  the  Lady,  and  knocking  Giles  head  over  heels 

Fractures  his  "  nob,"    Saves  the  hangman  a  job, 
And  executes  justice  most  strictly,  the  rather, 
'Twas  the  spot  where  that  rascal  had  murder'd  his  father. 

Then  in  comes  the  mother,    Who,  finding  one  brother 
Had  the  instant  before  saved  the  life  of  the  other, 

Explains  the  whole  case.    Ashdale  puts  a  good  face 
On  the  matter ;  and,  since  he's  obliged  to  give  place, 
Yields  his  coronet  up  with  a  pretty  good  grace ; 
Norman  vows  he  won't  have  it — the  kinsmen  embrace,  - 
And  the  Captain,  the  first  in  this  generous  race, 

To  remove  every  handle    For  gossip  and  scandal, 
Sets  the  whole  of  the  papers  alight  with  the  candle  ; 
An  arrangement  takes  place— on  the  very  same  night,  all 
Is  settled  and  done,  and  the  points  the  most  vital 
Are,  N.  takes  the  personals  ;— A.,  in  requital, 
Keeps  the  whole  real  property,  Mansion,  and  Title. — 
V.  falls  to  the  share  of  the  Captain,  and  tries  a 
Sea-voyage,  as  a  Bride,  in  the  "  Royal  Eliza." — 
Both  are  pleased  with  the  part  they  acquire  as  joint  heirs, 
And  old  Maurice  Beevor  is  bundled  down-stairs  ! 

MORAL. 

The  public,  perhaps,  with  the  drama  might  quarrel 
If  deprived  of  all  epilogue,  prologue,  and  moral ; 
This  may  serve  for  all  three  then  :— 

"  Young  Ladies  of  property, 
Let  Lady  A.'s  history  serve  as  a  stopper  t'ye  ; 
Don't  wed  with  low  people  beneath  your  degree, 
And  if  you've  a  baby,  don't  send  it  to  sea  1 

"(Young  Noblemen  !  shun  everything  like  a  brawl ; 
And  be  sure  when  you  dine  out,  or  go  to  a  ball, 
Don't  take  the  best  hat  that  you  find  in  the  hall, 
And  leave  one  in  its  stead  that's  worth  nothing  at  all  1 
D* 


1O1  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Old  Knights,  don't  give  bribes  !— above  all,  never  urge  a 

man 
To  steal  people's  things,  or  to  stick  an  old  Clergyman  ! 

"  And  you,  ye  Sea-Captains  !  who've  nothing  to  do 

But  to  run  round  the  world,  fight,  and  drink  till  all's  blue, 

And  tell  us  tough  yarns,  and  then  swear  they  are  true, 

Reflect,  notwithstanding  your  sea-faring  life, 

That  you  can't  get  on  well  long  without  you've  a  wife ; 

So  get  one  at  once,  treat  her  kindly  and  gently, 

Write  a  nautical  novel, — and  send  it  to  Bentley  1 " 


Mr.   Jeters's;    £>torg, 

THE     BAGMAN'S     DOG. 

Stant  littore  Puppies  !— VIBGIL. 

IT  was  a  litter,  a  litter  of  five, 

Four  are  drown'd,  and  one  left  alive, 

He  was  thought  worthy  alone  to  survive  ; 

And  the  Bagman  resolved  upon  bringing  him  up, 

To  eat  of  his  bread  and  drink  of  his  cup, 

He  was  such  a  dear  little  cock-tail'd  pup ! 

The  Bagman  taught  him  many  a  trick  ; 

He  would  carry,  and  fetch,  and  run  after  a  stick, 
Could  well  understand    The  word  of  command, 
And  appear  to  doze    With  a  crust  on  his  nose 

Till  the  Bagman  permissively  waved  his  hand : 

Then  to  throw  up  and  catch  it  he  never  would  fail, 

As  he  sat  up  on  end,  on  his  little  cock-tail 

Never  was  puppy  so  bien  instruit, 

Or  possess'!  of  such  natural  talent  as  he ; 
And  as  he  grew  older,    Every  beholder 

Agreed  he  grew  handsomer,  sleeker,  and  bolder. — 

Time,  however  his  wheels  we  may  clog, 

Wends  steadily  still  with  onward  jog, 

And  the  cock-tail'd  puppy's  a  curly-tail'd  dog ! 

When,  just  at  the  time    He  was  reaching  his  prime, 
And  all  thought  he'd  be  turning  out  something  sublime, 

One  unlucky  day,    How,  no  one  could  say, 


THE  SAGMAXTS  DOG.  10? 

Whether  soft  liaison  induced  him  to  stray, 

Or  some  kidnapping  vagabond  coax'd  him  away, 

He  was  lost  to  the  view,    Like  the  morning  dew  ;— 
He  had  been,  and  was  not — that's  all  that  they  knew  ; 
And  the  Bagman  storm'd,  and  the  Bagman  swore 
As  never  a  Bagman  had  sworn  before  ; 
But  storming  or  swearing  of  little  avails 
To  recover  lost  dogs  with  great  curly  tails.— 

In  a  large  paved  court,  close  by  Billiter  Square, 
Stands  a  mansion,  old,  but  in  thorough  repair, 
The  only  thing  strange,  from  the  general  air 
Of  its  size  and  appearance,  is  how  it  got  there  ; 
In  front  is  a  short  semicircular  stair 

Of  stone  steps,— some  half  score,— 

Then  you  reach  the  ground  floor, 
With  a  shell-pattern'd  architrave  over  the  door. 
It  is  spacious,- and  seems  to  be  built  on  the  plan 
Of  a  Gentleman's  house  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne ; 

Which  is  odd,  for,  although,    As  we  very  well  know, 
Under  Tudors  and  Stuarts  the  City  could  show 
Many  Noblemen's  seats  above  Bridge  and  below, 
Yet  that  fashion  soon  after  induced  them  to  go 
From  St.  Michael  Cornhill,  and  St.  Mary-le-Bow, 
To  St.  James,  and  St.  George,  and  St.  Anne  in  Soho.— 
Be  this  as  it  may, — at  the  date  I  assign 
To  my  tale,— that's  about  Seventeen  Sixty-nine,— 
This  mansion,  now  rather  upon  the  decline, 
Had  less  dignified  owners— belonging,  in  fine, 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Eogers,  and  Pyne— 
A  respectable  House  in  the  Manchester  line. 

There  were  a  score    Of  Bagmen,  and  more, 
Who  had  travell'd  full  oft  for  the  firm  before  ; 
But  just  at  this  period  they  wanted  to  send 
Some  person  on  whom  they  could  safely  depend— 
A  trustworthy  body — half  agent,  half  friend, 
On  some  mercantile  matter  as  far  as  Ostend  ; 
And  the  person  they  pitch'd  on  was  Anthony  Blogg 
A  grave,  steady  man,  not  addicted  to  grog,— 
The  Bagman,  in  short,  who  had  lost  this  great  dog. 


108  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS, 

"  The  Sea !  the  Sea !  the  open  Sea  !- 
That  is  the  place  where  we  all  wish  to  be, 
Rolling  about  on  it  merrily ! " — 

So  all  sing  and  say    By  night  and  by  day, 
In  the  boudoir,  the  street,  at  the  concert,  and  play, 
In  a  sort  of  coxcombical  roundelay  ;— 
You  may  roam  through  the  City,  transversely  or  straight . 
From  Whitechapel  turnpike  to  Cumberland  gate, 
And  every  young  lady  who  thrums  a  guitar, 
Ev'ry  mustachio'd  Shopman  who  smokes  a  cigar, 

With  affected  devotion,    Promulgates  his  notion, 
Of  being  a  "  Rover  "  and  "  child  of  the  Ocean  "— 
Whate'er  their  age,  sex,  or  condition  may  be, 
They  aU  of  them  long  for  the  "  Wide,  Wide  Sea  ! " 

But,  however  they  dote,    Only  set  them  afloat 
In  any  craft  bigger  at  all  than  a  boat, 

Take  them  down  to  the  Nore,   And  you'll  see  that,  1  efo:p 
The  "  Wessel "  they  "  Woyage  "  in  has  made  half  her  way 
Between  Shell  Ness  Point  and  the  Pier  at  Herne  Bay, 
Let  the  wind  meet  the  tide  in  the  slightest  degree, 
They'll  be  all  of  them  heartily  sick  of  "  the  Sea ! " 


I've  stood  in  Margate,  on  a  bridge  of  size 
Inferior  far  to  that  described  by  Byron, 

Where  "  palaces  and  pris'ns  on  each  hand  rise,"— 
—That  too 's  a  stone  one,  this  is  made  of  iron— 
And  little  donkey  boys  your  steps  environ, 

Each  proffering  for  your  choice  his  tiny  hack, 
Vaunting  its  excellence ;  and,  should  you  hire  one. 

For  sixpence,  will  he  urge,  with  frequent  thwack, 

The  much-enduring  beast  to  Buenos  Ayres— and  back 

And  there,  on  many  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 

I've  stood,  and  turn'd  my  gaze  upon  the  pier, 
And  seen  the  crews,  that  did  embark  so  gay 

That  self -same  morn,  now  disembark  so  queer  ; 

Then  to  myself  I've  sigh'd,  and  said,  "  Oh  dear ! 
Who  would  believe  yon  sickly  looking  man's  a 

London  Jack  Tar,— a  Cheapside  Buccaneer !  r 
But  hold,  my  Muse  !— for  this  terrific  stanza 
Is  all  too  stiffly  grand  for  our  Extravaganza 


BAGMAJfS  DOG.  109 

So  now  we'll  go  up,  up,  up, 

And  now  we'll  go  down,  down,  down, 
And  now  we'll  go  backwards  and  forwards, 

And  now  we'll  go  roun',  roun',  roun'. — 
—I  hope  you've  sufficient  discernment  to  see, 
Gentle  reader,  that  here  the  discarding  the  d 
Is  a  fault  which  you  must  not  attribute  to  me  ; 
Thus  my  Nurse  cut  it  off  when,  "  with  counterfeit  glee," 
She  sung,  as  she  danced  me  about  on  her  knee, 
In  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  three  : — 
All  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  the  Muse  is  now  free 
From  the  self-imposed  trammels  put  on  by  her  betters, 
And  no  longer,  like  Filch,  midst  the  felons  and  debtors 
At  Drury  Lane,  dances  her  hornpipe  in  fetters. 

Resuming  her  track,    At  once  she  goes  back 
To  our  hero,  the  Bagman. — Alas !  and  Alack  ! 

Poor  Anthony  Blogg    Is  as  sick  as  a  dog, 
Spite  of  sundry  unwonted  potations  of  grog, 
By  the  time  the  Dutch  packet  is  fairly  at  sea, 
With  the  sands  called  the  Goodwin's  a  league  on  her  lee. 

And  now,  my  good  friends,  I've  a  fine  opportunity 
To  obfuscate  you  all  by  sea  terms  with  impunity, 

And  talking  of  "  caulking,"    And  "  quarter-deck  walking," 

"  Fore  and  aft,"    And  "  abaft," 
"  Hookers,"  "  barkeys,"  and  "  craft " 
(At  which  Mr.  Poole  has  so  wickedly  laught), 
Of  binnacles, — bilboes, — the  boom  call'd  the  spanker, 
The  best  bower  cable,— the  jib,— and  sheet  anchor ; 
Of  lower-deck  guns, — and  of  broadsides  and  chases, 
Of  taffrails  and  topsails,  and  splicing  main-braces, 
And  "  Shiver  my  timbers  !  "  and  other  odd  phrases 
Employ'd  by  old  pilots  with  hard-featured  faces  ; — 
Of  the  expletives  sea-faring  Gentlemen  use, 
The  allusions  they  make  to  the  eyes  of  their  crews  ;— 

How  the  Sailors,  too,  swear,    How  they  cherish  their  hair, 
And  what  very  long  pigtails  a  great  many  wear. — 
But,  Reader,  I  scorn  it — the  fact  is,  I  fear, 
To  be  candid,  I  can't  make  these  matters  so  clear 
As  Marryatt,  or  Cooper,  or  Captain  Chamier, 
Or  Sir  E.  Lytton  Bulwer,  who  brought  up  the  rear 


110  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Of  the  "  Nauticals,"  just  at  the  end  of  the  year 

Eighteen  thirty-nine  (how  Time  flies  ! — Oh,  dear !) — 

With  a  well-written  preface,  to  make  it  appear 

That  his  play,  the  "  Sea-Captain,"  's  by  no  means  small  beer. 

There  ! — "brought  up  the  rear"— you  see  there's  a  mistake 

Which  none  of  the  authors  I've  mentioned  would  make, 

I  ought  to  have  said  that  he  "  sail'd  in  their  wake."— 

So  I'll  merely  observe,  as  the  water  grew  rougher 

The  more  my  poor  hero  continued  to  suffer, 

Till  the  Sailors  themselves  cried,  in  pity,  "  Poor  Buffer !  " 

Still  rougher  it  grew,    And  still  harder  it  blew, 
And  the  thunder  it  kick'd  up  such  a  halliballoo, 
That  even  the  Skipper  began  to  look  blue ; 

While  the  crew,  who  were  few,    Look'd  very  queer,  too, 
And  seem'd  not  to  know  what  exactly  to  do, 
And  they  who'd  the  charge  of  them  wrote  in  the  logs, 
"Wind  N.E. — blows  a  hurricane — rains  cats  and  dogs." 
In  short,  it  soon  grew  to  a  tempest  as  rude  as 
That  Shakespeare  describes  near  the  "  still  vext  Bermudas." 

When  the  winds,  in  their  sport,     Drove  aside  from  its 

port 

The  King's  ship,  with  the  whole  Neapolitan  Court, 
And  swamp'd  it  to  give  "  the  King's  Son,  Ferdinand,"  a 
Soft  moment  or  two  with  the  Lady  Miranda. 
While  her  Pa  met  the  rest,  and  severely  rebuked  'em 
For  unhandsomely  doing  him  out  of  his  Dukedom. 
You  don't  want  me,  however,  to  paint  you  a  Storm, 
As  so  many  have  done,  and  in  colours  so  warm  : 
Lord  Byron,  for  instance,  in  manner  facetious, 
Mr.  Ainsworth^more  gravely,— see  also  Lucretius, 
— A  writer  who  gave  me  no  trifling  vexation 
When  a  youngster  at  school  on  Dean  Colet's  foundation. — 

Suffice  it  to  say    That  the  whole  of  that  day, 
And  the  next,  and  the  next,  they  were  scudding  away 

Quite  out  of  their  course,    Propell'd  by  the  force, 
Of  those  flatulent  folks  known  in  Classical  story  as 
Aquilo,  Libs,  Notus,  Auster,  and  Boreas, 

Driven  quite  at  their  mercy    'Twixt  Guernsey  and  Jersey 
Till  at  length  they  came  bump  on  the  rocks  and  the  shallows, 
In  West  longitude,  One,  fifty-seven,  near  St.  Haloes ; 


THE  BAOMAITS  DOG.  Ill 

There  you'll  not  be  surprised 

That  the  vessel  capsized, 

Or  that  Blogg,  who  had  made,  from  intestine  commotions, 
His  specifical  gravity  less  than  the  Ocean's, 

Should  go  floating  away,    Midst  the  surges  and  spray, 
Like  a  cork  in  a  gutter,  which,  swoln  by  a  shower, 
Huns  down  Holborn-hill  about  nine  knots  an  hour. 

You've  seen,  I've  no  doubt,  at  Bartholomew  fair, 
Gentle  Reader,— that  is,  if  you've  ever  been  there,— 
With  their  hands  tied  behind  them,  some  two  or  three  pair 
Of  boys  round  a  bucket  set  up  on  a  chair, 

Skipping  and  dipping    Eyes,  nose,  chin,  and  lip  in, 
Their  faces  and  hair  with  the  water  all  dripping, 
In  an  anxious  attempt  to  catch  hold  of  a  pippin, 
That  bobs  up  and  down  in  the  water  whenever 
They  touch  it,  as  mocking  the  fruitless  endeavour  ; 
Exactly  as  Poets  say, — how,  though,  they  can't  tell  us, — 
Old  Nick's  Nonpareils  play  at  bob  with  poor  Tantalus. 

— Stay  ! — I'm  not  clear,    But  I'm  rather  out  here ; 
'Twas  the  water  itself  that  slipp'd  from  him,  I  fear ; 
Faith,  I  can't  recollect — and  I  haven't  Lempriere. — 
No  matter,— poor  Blogg  went  on  ducking  and  bobbing, 
Sneezing  out  the  salt  water,  and  gulping  and  sobbing, 
Just  as  Clarence,  in  Shakespeare,  describes  all  the  qualms  he 
Experienced  while  dreaming  they'd  drown 'd  him  in  Malmsey. 

"  Oh  Lord,"  he  thought,  "  what  pain  it  was  to  drown  ! " 
And  saw  great  fishes  with  great  goggling  eyes, 

Glaring  as  he  was  bobbing  up  and  down, 
And  looking  as  they  thought  him  quite  a  prize  j 

When,  as  he  sank,  and  all  was  growing  dark, 
A  something  seized  him  with  its  jaws ! — A  shark  ? — 

No  such  thing,  Reader  :— most  opportunely  for  Blo^rg, 
Twas  a  very  large,  web-footed,  curly-tail'd  Dog ! 


I'm  not  much  of  a  traVller,  and  really  can't  boast 
That  I  know  a  great  deal  of  the  Brittany  coast. 

But  I've  often  heard  say  That  e'en  to  this  day, 
The  people  of  Granville,  St.  Maloes,  and  thereabout 
Are  a  class  that  society  doesn't  much  care  about ; 


112  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Men  who  gain  a  subsistence  by  contraband  dealing, 
And  a  mode  of  abstraction  strict  people  call  "  stealing ;  " 
Notwithstanding  all  which,  they  are  civil  of  speech, 
Above  all  to  a  stranger  who  comes  within  reach  ; 

And  they  were  so  to  Blogg    When  the  curly-tail'd  Dog 
At  last  dragged  him  out,  high  and  dry  on  the  beach. 

But  we  all  have  been  told,    By  the  proverb  of  old, 
By  no  means  to  think  "  all  that  glitters  is  gold  ; " 

And,  in  fact,  some  advance    That  most  people  in  France 
Join  the  manners  and  air  of  a  Maifoe  de  Danse, 
To  the  morals  (as  Johnson  of  Chesterfield  said) — 
Of  an  elderly  Lady,  in  Babylon  bred, 
Much  addicted  to  flirting,  and  dressing  in  red. — 

Be  this  as  it  might,    It  embarrass 'd  Blogg  quite 
To  find  those  about  him  so  very  polite. 

A  suspicious  observer  perhaps  might  have  traced 
The  petite*  soins,  tender'd  with  so  much  good  taste, 
To  the  sight  of  an  old-fashion'd  pocket-book,  placed 
In  a  black  leather  belt  well  secured  round  his  waist, 
And  a  ring  set  with  diamonds,  his  finger  that  graced, 
So  brilliant  no  one  could  have  guess'd  they  were  paste. 

The  group  on  the  shore    Consisted  of  four  ; 
You  will  wonder,  perhaps,  there  were  not  a  few  more ; 
But  the  fact  is  they've  not,  in  that  part  of  the  nation, 
What  Malthus  would  term 'a  "  too  dense  population," 
Indeed  the  sole  sign  there  of  man's  habitation 

Was  merely  a  single    Kude  hut  in  a  dingle 
That  led  away  inland  direct  from  the  shingle, 
Its  sides  clothed  with  underwood,  gloomy  and  dark, 
Some  two  hundred  yards  above  high-water  mark  ; 

And  thither  the  party,    So  cordial  and  hearty, 
Viz.,  an  old  man,  his  wife,  and  two  lads,  made  a  start,  he, 

The  Bagman,  proceeding,    With  equal  good  breeding, 
To  express,  in  indifferent  French,  all  he  feels, 
The  great  curly-tail'd  Dog  keeping  close  to  his  heels.— 
They  soon  reach'd  the  hut,  which  seem'd  partly  in  ruin, 
All  the  way  bowing,  chattering,  shrugging,  Man  Dieuing, 
Grimacing,  and  what  sailors  call  parley-vooing. 


THE  BAGMA1TS  DOG.  113 

Is  it  Paris,  or  Kitchener,  Header,  exhorts 
You,  whenever  your  stomach's  at  all  out  of  sorts, 
To  try,  if  you  find  richer  viands  won't  stop  in  it, 
A  basin  of  good  mutton  broth  with  a  chop  in  it  ? 
(Such  a  basin  and  chop  as  I  once  heard  a  witty  one 
Call,  at  the  Garrick,  a  "  c — d  Committee  one," 
An  expression,  I  own,  I  do  not  think  a  pretty  one.) 

However,  its  clear,    That,  with  sound  table  beer, 
Such  a  mess  as  I  speak  of  is  very  good  cheer  ; 

Especially  too   When  a  person's  wet  through, 
And  is  hungry,  and  tired,  and  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Now  just  such  a  mess  of  delicious  hot  pottage 
Was  smoking  away  when  they  enter'd  the  cottage, 
And  casting  a  truly  delicious  perfume 
Through  the  whole  of  an  ugly,  old,  ill-furnish'd  room. 

"  Hot,  smoking  hot,"    On  the  fire  was  a  pot 
Well  replenished,  but  really  I  can't  say  with  what ; 
For,  famed  as  the  French  always  are  for  ragouts, 
No  creature  can  tell  what  they  put  in  their  stews, 
Whether  bull-frogs,  old  gloves,  or  old  wigs,  or  old  shoe?  ; 
Notwithstanding,  when  offer'd  I  rarely  refuse, 
Any  more  than  poor  Blogg  did,  when  seeing  the  reeky 
Repast  placed  before  him,  scarce  able  to  speak,  he 
In  ecstasy  mutter'd,  "  By  Jove,  Cocky-leeky !  " 

In  an  instant,  as  soon    As  they  gave  him  a  spoon,  • 
Every  feeling  and  faculty  bent  on  the  gruel,  he 
No  more  blamed  Fortune  for  treating  him  cruelly, 
But  fell  tooth  and  nail  on  the  soup  and  the  bouilli. 


Meanwhile  that  old  man  standing  by, 

Subducted  his  long  coat-tails  on  high, 

With  his  back  to  the  fire,  as  if  to  dry 

A  part  of  his  dress  which  the  watery  sky 

Had  visited  rather  inclemently. — 

Blandly  he  smiled,  but  still  he  look'd  sly, 

And  a  something  sinister  lurk'd  in  his  eye. 

Indeed,  had  you  seen  him  his  maritime  dress  in, 

You'd  have  own'd  his  appearance  was  not  prepossessing, 

He'd  a  "  dreadnought "  coat,  and  heavy  sabots 

With  thick  wooden  soles  turn'd  up  at  the  toes, 


114  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

His  nether  man  cased  in  a  striped  quelque  chose, 
And  a  hump  on  his  back,  and  a  great  hook'd  nose, 
So  that  nine  out  of  ten  would  be  led  to  suppose 
That  the  person  before  them  was  Punch  in  plain  clothes. 

Yet  still,  as  I  told  you,  he  smiled  on  all  present, 
And  did  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  look  pleasant 

The  old  woman,  too,    Made  a  mighty  ado, 
Helping  her  guest  to  a  deal  of  the  stew  ; 
She  fish  d  up  the  meat,  and  she  help'd  him  to  that, 
She  helped  him  to  lean,  and  she  help'd  him  to  fat, 
And  it  look'd  like  Hare — but  it  might  have  been  Cat 
The  little  garfons  too  strove  to  express 
Their  sympathy  towards  the  "  Child  of  distress  " 
With  a  great  deal  of  juvenile  French  politesse  : 

But  the  Bagman  bluff    Continued  to  "  stuff  " 
Of  the  fat,  and  the  lean,  and  the  tender  and  tough, 
Till  they  thought  he  would  never  cry,  "  Hold,  enough  ! " 
And  the  old  woman's  tones  became  far  less  agreeable, 
Sounding  like  peste !  and  sacre !  and  diable ! 

I've  seen  an  old  saw,  which  is  well  worth  repeating, 

That  says, 

"ffioofc  Satpnge 
JBeaerfottf)  goofc  Brunfepnge." 
You'll  find  it  so  printed  by  "ffaiton  or  <H3gnfepn, 
And  a  very  good  proverb  it  is  to  my  thinking. 

Blogg  thought  so  too ;—    As  he  finish'd  his  stew, 
His  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  word  "Morbleu  !  " 
Pronounced  by  the  old  woman  under  her  breath. 
Now,  not  knowing  what  she  could  mean  by  "  Blue  Death  ?  * 
He  conceived  she  referr'd  to  a  delicate  brewing 
Which  is  almost  synonymous, — namely,  "  Blue  Ruin-" 
So  he  pursed  up  his  lip  to  a  smile,  and  with  glee, 
In  his  cockneyfy'd  accent,  responded,  "  Oh,  Vee  I " 

Which  made  her  understand  he   Was  asking  for  brandy, 
So  she  turn'd  to  the  cupboard,  and  having  some  handy, 
Produced,  rightly  deeming  he  would  not  object  to  it, 
An  orbicular  bulb  with  a  very  long  neck  to  it ; 
In  fact  you  perceive  her  mistake  was  the  same  as  his, 
Each  of  them  "  reasoning  right  from  wrong  premises  :  '* 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  115 

—And  here  by  the  way,    Allow  me  to  say, 
Kind  Reader,  you  sometimes  permit  me  to  stray— 
'Tis  strange  the  French  prove,  when  they  take  to  aspersing, 
So  inferior  to  us  in  the  science  of  cursing ; 

Kick  a  Frenchman  down-stairs, 

How  absurdly  he  swears,  , 

And  how  odd  'tis  to  hear  him,  when  beat  to  a  jelly, 
Roar  out,  in  a  passion,  "  Blue  Death ! "  and  "  Blue  Belly  ! " 

"  To  return  to  our  sheep  "  from  this  little  digression  :— 

Blogg's  features  assumed  a  complacent  expression 

As  he  emptied  his  glass,  and  she  gave  him  a  fresh  one ; 

Too  little  he  heeded,    How  fast  they  succeeded, 
Perhaps  you  or  I  might  have  done,  though,  as  he  did  : 
For  when  once  Madame  Fortune  deals  out  her  hard  raps, 

It's  amazing  to  think,    How  one  "  cottons  "  to  Drink  ! 
At  such  times,  of  all  things  in  nature,  perhaps 
There's  not  one  that  is  half  so  seducing  at  Schnaps. 
Mr.  Blogg,  besides  being  uncommonly  dry, 
Was,  like  most  other  Bagmen,  remarkably  shy, 

— "  Did  not  like  to  deny  "—     "  Felt  obliged  to  comply  " 
Every  time  that  she  ask'd  him  to  "  wet  t'other  eye  ; " 
For  'twas  worthy  remark  that  she  spared  not  the  stoup, 
Though  before  she  had  seem'd  so  to  grudge  him  the  soup. 

At  length  the  fumes  rose    To  his  brain ;  and  his  nose 
Gave  hints  of  a  strong  disposition  to  doze, 
And  a  yearning  to  seek  "  horizontal  repose." — 

His  queer-looking  host,    Who,  firm  at  his  post, 
During  all  the  long  meal  had  continued  to  toast 

That  garment  'twere  rude  to    Do  more  than  allude  to, 
Perceived,  from  his  breathing  and  nodding,  the  views 
Of  his  guest  were  directed  to  "  taking  a  snooze  : " 
So  he  caught  up  a  lamp  in  his  huge  dirty  paw, 
With  (as  Blogg  used  to  tell  it)  "Mounseer,  swivvy  maw!" 

And  "  marshall'd  "  him  so  "  The  way  he  should  go,' 
Up-stairs  to  an  attic,  large,  gloomy,  and  low, 

Without  table  or  chair,    Or  a  movable  there, 
Save  an  old-fashion'd  bedstead,  much  out  of  repair, 
That  stood  at  the  end  most  removed  from  the  stair.— 

With  a  grin  and  a  shrug    The  host  points  to  the  rug, 
Just  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There  !— I  think  you'll  be  snug  1 


116  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Puts  the  light  on  the  floor,    Walks  to  the  door, 
Makes  a  formal  Salaam,  and  is  then  seen  no  more  : 
When  just  as  the  ear  lost  the  sound  of  his  tread, 
To  the  Bagman's  surprise,  and,  at  first,  to  his  dread, 
The  great  curly-tail'd  Dog  crept  from  under  the  bed  !— 
—It's  a  very  nice  thing  when  a  man's  in  a  fright, 
And  think's  matters  all  wrong,  to  find  matters  all  right ; 
As,  for  instance,  when  going  home  late-ish  at  night 
Through  a  Churchyard,  and  seeing  a  thing  all  in  white, 
Which,  of  course,  one  is  led  to  consider  a  Sprite, 

To  find  that  the  Ghost    Is  merely  a  post, 
Or  a  miller,  or  chalky-faced  donkey  at  most ; 
Or,  when  taking  a  walk  as  the  evenings  begin 
To  close,  or,  as  some  people  call  it,  "  draw  in," 
And  some  undefined  form,  "  looming  large  "  through  the  haze, 
Presents  itself,  right  in  your  path,  to  your  gaze, 

Inducing  a  dread    Of  a  knock  on  the  head, 
Or  a  sever'd  carotid,  to  find  that,  instead 
Of  one  of  those  ruffians  who  murder  and  fleece  men, 
It's  your  uncle,  or  one  of  the  "  Rural  Policemen ;  "— 

Then  the  blood  flows  again    Through  artery  and  vein  ; 
You're  delighted  with  what  just  before  gave  you  pain  : 
You  laugh  at  your  fears— and  your  friend  in  the  fog 
Meets  a  welcome  as  cordial  as  Anthony  Blogg 
Now  bestow'd  on  his  friend — the  great  curly-tail'd  Dog. 

For  the  Dog  leap'd  up,  and  his  paws  found  a  place 
On  each  side  his  neck  in  a  canine  embrace, 
And  he  lick'd  Blogg's  hands,  and  he  lick'd  his  face, 
And  he  waggled  his  tail  as  much  as  to  say, 
Mr.  Blogg,  we've  foregathered  before  to-day, 
And  the  Bagman  saw,  as  he  now  sprang  up, 

What,  beyond  all  doubt,    He  might  have  found  out 
Before  had  he  not  been  so  eager  to  sup, 
Twas  Sancho  !— the  Dog  he  had  rear'd  from  a  pup ! — 
The  Dog  who  when  sinking  had  seized  his  hair,— 
The  Dog  who  had  saved,  and  conducted  him  there, — 
The  Dog  he  had  lost  out  of  Billiter  Square  ! ! 

It's  passing  sweet,    An  absolute  treat, 
When  friends,  long  sever'd  by  distance,  meet — 
With  what  warmth  and  affection  each  other  they  greet ' 


THE  BAGMAHTS  DOG.  117 

Especially  too,  as  we  very  well  know, 

If  there  seems  any  chance  of  a  little  cadeau, 

A  "  Present  from  Brighton,"  or  "  Token  "  to  show, 

In  the  shape  of  a  work-box,  ring,  bracelet,  or  so, 

That  our  friends  don't  forget  us,  although  they  may  go 

To  Ramsgate,  or  Rome,  or  Fernando  Po. 

If  some  little  advantage  seems  likely  to  start, 

From  a  fifty-pound  note  to  a  two-penny  tart, 

It's  surprising  to  see  how  it  softens  the  heart, 

And  you'll  find  those  whose  hopes  from  the  other  are  strongest 

Use,  in  common,  endearments  the  thickest  and  longest. 

But,  it  was  not  so  here  ;    For  although  it  is  clear, 
When  abroad,  and  we  have  not  a  single  friend  near, 
E'en  a  cur  that  will  love  us  becomes  very  dear, 
And  the  balance  of  interest  'twixt  him  and  the  Doj 
Of  course  was  inclining  to  Anthony  Blogg, 

Yet  he,  first  of  all,  ceased    To  encourage  the  beat>t, 
Perhaps  thinking  "  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast ;  " 
And  besides,  as  we've  said,  being  sleepy  and  mellow, 
He  grew  tired  of  patting  and  crying  "  Poor  fellow  !  " 
So  his  smile  by  degrees  harden'd  into  a  frown, 
And  his  "  That's  a  good  dog  ! "  into  "  Down,  Sancho  !  down !  " 
But  nothing  could  stop  his  mute  fav'rite's  caressing, 
Who,  in  fact,  seem'd  resolved  to  prevent  his  undressing, 

Using  paws,  tail,  and  head,    As  if  he  had  said, 
"  Most  beloved  of  masters,  pray,  don't  go  to  bed  ; 
Yoxi  had  much  better  sit  up,  and  pat  me  instead  !  ' 
Nay,  at  last,  when  determined  to  take  some  repose, 
Blogg  threw  himself  down  on  the  outside  the  clothes, 

Spite  of  all  he  could  do,    The  dog  jump'd  up  too, 
And  kept  him  awake  with  his  very  cold  nose  ; 

Scratching  and  whining,    And  moaning  and  pining, 
Till  Blogg  really  believed  he  must  have  some  design  in 
Thus  breaking  his  rest ;  above  all,  when  at  length 
The  dog  scratch'd  him  off  from  the  bed  by  sheer  strength. 

Extremely  annoy'd  by  the  "  tarnation  whop,"  as  it 
's  call'd  in  Kentuck,  on  his  head  and  its  opposite, 

Blogg  showed  fight ;    When  he  saw,  by  the  light 
Of  the  flickering  candle,  that  had  not  yet  quite 
Burnt  down  in  the  socket,  though  not  over  bright, 


118  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Certain  dark-colour'd  stains,  as  of  blood  newly  spilt, 
Reveal'd  by  the  dog's  having  scratched  off  the  quilt,— 
Which  hinted  a  story  of  horror  and  guilt ! — 

'Twas  "  no  mistake," —    He  was  "  wide  awake  " 
In  an  instant ;  for,  when  only  decently  drunk, 
Nothing  sobers  a  man  so  completely  as  "  funk.' 

And  hark  ! — what's  that  1—    They  have  got  into  chat 
In  the  kitchen  below — what  the  deuce  are  they  at  ? — 
There's  the  ugly  old  fisherman  scolding  his  wife— 
And  she— by  the  Pope  !  she's  whetting  a  knife  :— 

At  each  twist    Of  her  wrist, 
And  her  great  mutton  fist, 
The  edge  of  the  weapon  sounds  shriller  and  louder  !— 

The  fierce  kitchen  fire    Had  not  made  Blogg  perspire 
Half  so  much,  or  a  dose  of  the  best  James's  powder, — 
It  ceases — all  silent ! — and  now,  I  declare 
There's  somebody  crawls  up  that  rickety  stair. 

The  horrid  old  ruffian  comes,  cat-like,  creeping ;  — 

He  opens  the  door  just  sufficient  to  peep  in, 

And  sees,  as  he  fancies,  the  Bagman  sleeping  ! 

For  Blogg,  when  he'd  once  ascertain'd  that  there  was  some 

''Precious  mischief"  on  foot,  had  resolved  to  play  "'Possum/' — • 

Down  he  went,  legs  and  head,    Flat  on  the  bed, 
Apparently  sleeping  as  sound  as  the  dead ; 
While,  though  none  who  look'd  at  him  would  think  such  a 

thing, 
Every  nerve  in  his  frame  was  braced  up  for  a  spring. 

Then,  just  as  the  villain    Crept,  stealthy  still,  in, 
And  you'd  not  have  insured  his  guest's  life  for  a  shilling, 
As  the  knife  gleam 'd  on  high,  bright  and  sharp  as  a  razor, 
Blogg,  starting  upright,  "  tipp'd  "  the  fellow  "  a  facer ;  "— 
— Down  went  man  and  weapon — Of  all  sorts  of  blows, 
From  what  Mr.  Jackson  reports,  I  suppose 
There  are  few  that  surpass  a  flush  hit  on  the  nose. 

Now  had  I  the  pen  of  old  Ossian  or  Homer 

(Though  each  of  these  names  some  pronounce  a  misnomer, 

And  say  the  first  person    Was  called  James  M'Pherson, 
While,  as  to  the  second,  they  stoutly  declare 
He  was  no  one  knows  who,  and  born  no  one  knows  where). 


THE  BAGMANS  DOG.  119 

Or  had  I  the  quill  of  Pierce  Egan,  a  writer 
Acknowledged  the  best  theoretical  fighter 

For  the  last  twenty  years,    By  the  lively  young  Peers, 
Who,  doffing  their  coronets,  collars,  and  ermine,  treat 
Boxers  to  "  Max,"  at  the  One  Tun  in  Jermyn  Street ; — 
— I  say,  could  I  borrow  these  Gentlemen's  Muses, 
More  skill'd  than  my  meek  one  in  "  fibbings  "  and  bruises, 

I'd  describe  now  to  you    As  "  prime  a  Set-to," 
And  "  regular  turn  up,"  as  ever  you  knew ; 
Not  inferior  in  "  bottom  "  to  aught  you  have  read  of 
Since  Cribb,  years  ago,  half  knock'd  Molyneux's  head  off. 
But  my  dainty  Urania  says,  "  Such  things  are  shocking  ! " 

Lace  mittens  she  loves,    Detesting  "  The  Gloves  ; " 
And  turning,  with  air  most  disdainfully  mocking, 
From  Melpomene's  buskin,  adopts  the  silk  stocking, 

So,  as  far  as  I  can  see,    I  must  leave  you  to  "  fancy  " 
The  thumps  and  the  bumps,  and  the  ups  and  the  downs, 
And  the  taps,  and  the  slaps,  and  the  raps  on  the  crowns, 
That  pass'd  'twixt  the  Husband,  Wife,  Bagman,  and  Dog, 
As  Blogg  roll'd  over  them,  and  they  roll'd  over  Blogg  ; 

While  what's  call'd  "  The  Claret "    Flew  over  the  garret ; 

Merely  stating  the  fact,    As  each  other  they  whack'd, 
The  Dog  his  old  master  most  gallantly  back'd ; 
Making  both  the  garfons,  who  came  running  in,  sheer  off, 
With  "  Hippolyte's  "  thumb,  and  "  Alphonse's  "  left  ear  off ; 

Next,  making  a  stoop  on    The  buffeting  group  on 
The  floor,  rent  in  tatters  the  old  woman's  jupon; 
Then  the  old  man  turn'd  up,  and  a  fresh  bite  of  Sancho's 
Tore  out  the  whole  seat  of  his  striped  Calimancoes.— 

Really,  which  way    This  desperate  fray 
Might  have  ended  at  last,  I'm  not  able  to  say, 
The  dog  keeping  thus  the  assassins  at  bay  : 
But  a  few  fresh  arrivals  decided  the  day ; 

For  bounce  went  the  door,    In  came  half  a  score 
Of  the  passengers,  sailors,  and  one  or  two  more 
Who  had  aided  the  party  in  gaining  the  shore  ! 

It's  a  great  many  years  ago — mine  then  were  few — 
Since  I  spent  a  short  time  in  old  Courageux  ; 

I  think  that  they  say    She  had  been,  in  her  day, 
A  First-rate, — but  was  then  what  they  term'd  a  Rasee, — 


120  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  they  took  me  on  board  in  the  Downs,  where  she  lay, 

(Captain  Wilkinson  held  the  command,  by  the  way.) 

In  her  I  pick'd  up,  on  that  single  occasion, 

The  little  I  know  that  concerns  Navigation, 

And  obtain'd,  inter  alia,  some  vague  information 

Of  a  practice  which  often,  in  cases  of  robbing, 

Is  adopted  on  shipboard — I  think  it's  call'd  "  cobbing 

How  it's  managed  exactly  I  really  can't  say, 

But  I  think  that  a  boot-jack  is  brought  into  play— 

That  is  if  I'm  right : — it  exceeds  my  ability 

To  tell  how  'tis  done  ;  But  the  system  is  one 
Of  which  Sancho's  exploit  would  increase  the  facility. 
And,  from  all  I  can  learn,  I'd  much  rather  be  robb'd 
Of  the  little  I  have  in  my  purse  than  be  "  cobb'd  " 

That's  mere  matter  of  taste  : 

But  the  Frenchman  was  placed — 
I  mean  the  old  scoundrel  whose  actions  we've  traced— 
In  such  a  position,  that,  on  this  unmasking, 
His  consent  was  the  last  thing  the  men  thought  of  asking. 

The  old  woman,  too,    Was  obliged  to  go  through, 
With  her  boys,  the  rough  discipline  used  by  the  crew, 
Who,  before  they  let  one  of  the  set  see  the  back  of  them, 
"  Cobb'd  "  the  whole  party, — ay,  "  every  man  Jack  of  them. 

MORAL 

And  now.  Gentle  Reader,  before  that  I  say 
Farewell  for  the  present,  and  wish  you  good  Jay, 
Attend  to  the  moral  I  draw  from  my  lay !  — 

If  ever  you  travel,  like  Anthony  Blogg, 
Be  wary  of  strangers  ! — don't  take  too  much  grog ! 
And  don't  fall  asleep,  if  you  should,  like  a  hog ! — 
Above  all — carry  with  you  a  curly-tail'd  Dog ! 

Lastly,  don't  act  like  Blogg,  who,  I  say  it  with  blushing, 
Sold  Sancho  next  month  for  two  guineas  at  Flushing  ; 
But  still  on  these  words  of  the  Bard  keep  a  fix'd  eye, 
INGRATUM  si  DIXERIS,  OMNIA  DIXTI  ! ! ! 

L'Envoye. 

I  felt  so  disgusted  with  Blogg,  from  sheer  shame  of  him. 
I  never  once  thought  to  inquire  what  became  of  him  ; 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  121 

If  you  want  to  know,  Reader,  the  way  I  opine, 

To  achieve  your  design, —    Mind,  it's  no  wish  of  mine, — 
Is, — (a  penny  will  do't) — by  addressing  a  line 
To  Turner.'Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers,  and  Pyne. 


iftm&quetat're* 

A    LEGEND    OF    FRANCE. 

FRANCOIS  XAVIER  AUGUSTE  was  a  gay  Mousquetaire, 
The  Pride  of  the  Camp,  the  delight  of  the  Fair  : 
He'd  a  mien  so  distingue  and  so  debonnaire, 
And  shrugg'd  with  a  grace  so  recherche  and  rare, 
And  he  twirl'd  his  moustache  with  so  charming  an  aiv, 
— His  moustaches  I  should  say,  because  he'd  a  pair, — 
And,  in  short,  showed  so  much  of  the  true  scavoir  faire, 
All  the  ladies  in  Paris  were  wont  to  declare, 

That  could  any  one  draw    Them  from  Dian's  strict  law 
Into  what  Mrs.  Ramsbottom  calls  a  "  Fox  Paw," 
It  would  be  Francois  Xavier  Auguste  de  St.  Foix. 

Now,  I'm  sorry  to  say,    At  that  time  of  day, 
The  Court  of  Versailles  was  a  little  too  gay ; 
The  Courtiers  were  all  much  addicted  to  Play, 
To  Bourdeaux,  Chambertin,  Frontignac,  St.  Peray, 

Lafitte,  Chateau  Margaux,    And  Sillery  (a  cargo 
On  which  John  Bull  sensibly  (?)  lays  an  embargo), 

While  Louis  Quatorze    Kept  about  him  in  scores, 
What  the  Noblesse,  in  courtesy,  term'd  his  "  Jane  Shores," 
— They  were  call'd  by  a  much  coarser  name  out-of-doors. 

This,  we  all  must  admit,  in    A  King's  not  befitting  ! 
For  such  courses,  when  follow'd  by  persons  of  quality, 
Are  apt  to  detract  on  the  score  of  morality. 

Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  acted  much  like  the  rest  of  them, 
Dress'd,  drank,  and  fought,  and  chassee'd  with  the  best  of 

them ; 

Took  his  ceil  de  perdrix    Till  he  scarcely  could  see, 
He  would  then  sally  out  in  the  streets  for  a  "  spree  ; " 


122  THE  INGOLDSDY  LEGENDS. 

His  rapier  he'd  draw,    Pink  a  Bourgeois 
(A  word  which  the  English  translate  "  Johnny  Raw  ") ; 
For  your  thorough  French  Courtier,  whenever  the  fit  he's  in, 
Thinks  it  prime  fun  to  astonish  a  citizen ; 
And  perhaps  it's  no  wonder  that  this  kind  of  scrapes, 
In  a  nation  which  Voltaire,  in  one  of  his  japes, 
Defines  "  an  amalgam  of  Tigers  and  Apes," 
Should  be  merely  consider'd  as  "Little  Escapes." 

But  I'm  sorry  to  add,    Things  are  almost  as  bad 
A  great  deal  nearer  home,  and  that  similar  pranks 
Amongst  young  men  who  move  in  the  very  first  ranks, 
Are  by  no  means  confined  to  the  land  of  the  Franks. 

Be  this  as  it  will,    In  the  general,  still, 

Though  blame  him  we  must,    It  is  really  but  just 
To  our  lively  young  friend,  Francois  Xavier  Auguste, 

To  say,  that  howe'er    Well  known  his  faults  were, 
At  his  Bacchanal  parties  he  always  drank  fair, 
And  when  gambling  his  worst,  always  play"d  on  the  square  ; 
So  that,  being  much  more  of  pigeon  than  rook,  he 
Lost  large  sums  at  faro  (a  game  like  "  Blind  Hookey  "), 

And  continued  to  lose,    And  to  give  I  O  U's, 
Till  he  lost  e'en  the  credit  he  had  with  the  Jews  ; 
And,  a  parallel  if  I  may  venture  to  draw 
Between  Francois  Xavier  Auguste  de  St.  Foix, 
And  his  namesake,  a  still  more  distinguish'd  Francois, 

Who  wrote  to  his  "soeur  "    From  Pavia,  "  Mon  Coeur, 
I  have  lost  all  I  had  in  the  world  fors  Vhonneur." 

So  St.  Foix  might  have  wrote    No  dissimilar  note 
"  Vive  la  bagatelle !  tovjours  gai — idem  sempei — 
I've  lost  all  I  had  in  the  world  but — my  temper ! " 

From  the  very  beginning,    Indeed,  of  his  sinning, 
His  air  was  so  cheerful,  his  manner  so  winning, 
That  once  he  prevail'd — or  his  friends  coin  the  tale  for  him — 
On  the  bailiff  who  "nabb'd"  him,  himself  to  "go  bail"  for 
him. 

Well — we  know  in  these  cases, 

Your  "  Crabs  "  and  "  Deuce  Aces  " 
Are  wont  to  promote  frequent  changes  of  places  ; 
Town  doctors,  indeed,  are  most  apt  to  declare 
That  there's  nothing  so  good  as  the  pure  "  country  air," 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  123 

Whenever  exhaustion  of  person,  or  purse,  in 
An  invalid  cramps  him,  and  sets  him  a-cursing  : 
A  habit,  I'm  very  much  grieved  at  divulging, 
Fransois  Xavier  Auguste  was  too  prone  to  indulge  in. 

But  what  could  be  done  t    It's  clear  as  the  sun, 
That,  though  nothing's  more  easy  than  say,  "  Cut  and  run  ! 
Yet  a  Guardsman  can't  live  without  some  sort  of  fun — 

E'en  I  or  you,    If  we'd  nothing  to  do, 
Should  soon  find  ourselves  looking  remarkably  blue. 

And,  since  no  one  denies    What's  so  plain  to  all  eyes, 
It  won't,  I  am  sure,  create  any  surprise, 
That  reflections  like  these  half  reduced  to  despair 
Fransois  Xavier  Auguste,  the  gay  Black  Mousquetaire. 

Patience  par  force !    He  consider' d,  of  course, 
But  in  vain — he  could  hit  on  no  sort  of  resource — 

Love  ? — Liquor  ? — Law  ? — Loo  ? 

They  would  each  of  them  do, 

There's  excitement  enough  in  all  four,  but  in  none  he 
Could  hope  to  get  on  sans  I 'argent — i.e.,  money. 
Love  I— no  ; — ladies  like  little  cadeaux  from  a  suitor. 
Liquor?— no, — that  won't  do,  when  reduced  to  "the  Pewter."— 

Then  Law  ? — 'tis  the  same ;    It's  a  very  fine  game, 
But  the  fees  and  delays  of  "  the  Courts  "  are  a  shame. 
As  Lord  Brougham  says  himself — who's  a  very  great  name, 
Though  the  TIMES  made  it  clear  he  was  perfectly  lost  in  his 
Classic  attempt  at  translating  Demosthenes, 

And  don't  know  his  "  particles,"—  Who  wrote  the  articles, 
Showing  his  Greek  up  so,  is  not  known  very  well ; 
Many  thought  Barnes,  others  Mitchell— some  Merivale  ; 

But  it's  scarce  worth  debate,    Because  from  the  date 
Of  my  tale  one  conclusion  we  safely  may  draw, 
Viz.  :  'twas  not  Fra^ois  Xavier  Auguste  de  St.  Foix ! 

Loo  ?— No  ;  that  he  had  tried : 

'Twas,  in  fact,  his  weak  side, 
But  required  more  than  any  a  purse  well  supplied. 
"  Love  t — Liquor  ? — Law  1— Loo  ?  No !  'tis  all  the  same  story. 
Stay!   I  have  it— Ma  foil  (that's  "Odd's  Bobs!")  there  is 
GLORY. 

Away  with  dull  care  !     Vive  le  Roi  I  Vive  la  Guerre  ! 
7*tste  !  I'd  almost  forgot  I'm  a  Black  Mousquetaire  ! 


124  THE  IN  GOLD  SET  LEGENDS. 

When  a  man  is  like  me,    Sans  six  sous,  sans  souci, 
A  bankrupt  in  puree,    And  in  character  worse, 

With  a  shocking  bad  hat,  and  his  credit  at  zero, 

What  on  earth  can  he  hope  to  become, — but  a  Hero  ? 
What  a  famous  thought  this  is  !    I'll  go  as  Ulysses 

Of  old  did — like  him  I'll  see  manners  and  know  countries  ; 

Cut  Paris, — and  gaming— and  throats  in  the  Low  Countries. 

So  said,  and  so  done — he  arranged  his  affairs, 
And  was  off  like  a  shot  to  his  Black  Mousquetaires. 

Now  it  happen'd  just  then     That  Field- Marshal  Turenne 
Was  a  good  deal  in  want  of  "  some  active  young  men," 

To  fill  up  the  gaps  Which,  through  sundry  mishaps, 
Had  been  made  in  his  ranks  by  a  certain  "  Great  Conde," 
A  General  unrivall'd — at  least  in  his  own  day— 

Whose  valour  was  such,    That  he  did  not  care  much 
If  he  fought  with  the  French, — or  the  Spaniards, — or  Dutch, — 
A  fact  which  has  stamp'd  him  a  rather  "  Cool  hand," 
Being  nearly  related  to  Louis  le  Grand. 
It  had  been  all  the  same  had  that  King  been  his  brother  ; 
He  fought  sometimes  with  one,  and  sometimes  with  another  ; 

For  war,  so  exciting,    He  took  such  delight  in, 
He  did  not  care  whom  he  fought,  so  he  was  fighting. 
And,  as  I've  just  said,  had  amused  himself  then 
By  tickling  the  tail  of  Field-Marshal  Turenne  ; 
Since  which,  the  Field- Marshal's  most  pressing  concern 
Was  to  tickle  some  other  Chiefs  tail  in  his  turn. 
What  a  fine  thing  a  battle  is ! — not  one  of  those 
Which  one  saw  at  the  late  Mr.  Andrew  DucroVs, 
Where  a  dozen  of  scene-shifters,  drawn  up  in  rows, 
Would  a  dozen  more  scene-shifters  boldly  oppose, 

Taking  great  care  their  blows    Did  not  injure  thiir  foes, 
And  alike,  save  in  colour  and  cut  of  their  clothes, 
Which  were  varied,  to  give  more  effect  to  "  Tableaux" 

While  Stickney  the  Great    Flung  the  gauntlet  to  Fate, 
And  made  us  all  tremble,  so  gallantly  did  he  come 
On  to  encounter  bold  General  Widdicombe — 
But  a  real  good  fight,  like  Pultowa,  or  Liitzen 
Which  Gustavus  the  Great  ended  all  his  disputes  in). 
Or  that  which  Suwarrow  engaged  without  boots  in, 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  126 

Or  Dettingen,  Fontenoy,  Blenheim,  or  Minden, 
Or  the  one  Mr.  Campbell  describes,  Hohenlinden, 

Where  "  the  sun  was  low,"    The  ground  all  over  snow 
And  dark  as  mid-winter  the  swift  Iser's  flow, — 
Till  its  colour  was  alter'd  by  General  Moreau  : 
While  the  big  drum  was  heard  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
Which  rattled  the  Bard  out  of  bed  in  a  fright, 
And  he  ran  up  the  steeple  to  look  at  the  fight. 

'Twas  in  just  such  another  one 

(Names  only  bother  one — 

Dutch  ones  indeed  are  sufficient  to  smother  one — ) 
In  the  Netherlands  somewhere — I  cannot  say  where — 

Suffice  it  that  there    La  fortune  de  guerre 
Gave  a  cast  of  her  calling  to  our  Mousquetaire. 
One  fine  morning,  in  short,  Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste, 
After  making  some  scores  of  his  foes  "  bite  the  dust," 
Got  a  mouthful  himself  of  the  very  same  crust ; 
And  though,  as  the  Bard  says,  "  No  law  is  more  jn.st 
Than  for  Neds  artificis" — so  they  call'd  fiery 
Soldados  at  Rome, — " arte  sud perire" 

Yet  Fate  did  not  draw    This  poetical  law 
To  its  fullest  extent  in  the  case  of  St.  Foix. 
His  Good  Genius  most  probably  found  out  some  flaw, 

And  diverted  the  shot    From  some  deadlier  spot 
To  a  bone  which,  I  think,  to  the  best  of  my  memory,  's 
Call'd  by  Professional  men  the  "  osfemoris  ;" 
And  the  ball  being  one  of  those  named  from  its  shape, 
And  some  fancied  resemblance  it  bears  to  the  grape, 

St.  Foix  went  down,    With  a  groan  and  a  frown> 
And  a  hole  in  his  small-clothes  the  size  of  a  crown. — 

Stagger'd  a  bit    By  this  "  palpable  hit,' 
He  turn'd  on  his  face,  and  went  off  in  a  fit. 

Yes !  a  Battle's  a  very  fine  thing  while  you're  fighting, 
These  same  Ups-and-Downs  are  so  very  exciting, 
But  a  sombre  sight  is  a  Battle-field 

To  the  sad  survivor's  sorrowing  eye, 
Where  those,  who  scorned  to  fly  or  yield, 
In  one  promiscuous  carnage  lie  ; 

When  the  cannon's  roar    Is  heard  no  more, 
And  the  thick  dun  smoke  has  roll'd  away, 


126  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  the  victor  comes  for  a  last  survey 
Of  the  well-fought  field  of  yesterday  ! 

No  triumphs  flush  that  haughty  brow,— 

No  proud  exulting  look  is  there, — 
His  eagle  glance  is  humbled  now, 

As,  earthward  bent,  in  anxious  care 
It  seeks  the  form  whose  stalwart  pride 
But  yester-morn  was  by  his  side  ! 

And  there  it  lies  !— on  yonder  bank 

Of  corses,  which  themselves  had  breath 
But  yester-morn — now  cold  and  dank, 

With  other  dews  than  those  of  death ! 
Powerless  as  it  had  ne'er  been  born 
The  hand  that  clasp'd  his — yester-morn ! 

And  there  are  widows  wand'ring  there, 

That  roam  the  blood-besprinkled  plain, 
And  listen  in  their  dumb  despair 

For  sounds  they  ne'er  may  hear  again ! 
One  word,  however  faint  and  low, — 
Ay,  e'en  a  groan,— were  music  now  ! 

And  this  is  Glory !— Fame  !— 

But,  pshaw ; 

Miss  Muse,  you're  growing  sentimental ; 
Besides,  such  things  we  never  saw  ; 

In  fact  they're  merely  Continental. 
And  then  your  Ladyship  forgets 
Some  widows  came  for  epaulettes. 

So  go  back  to  your  canter ;  for  one,  I  declare, 
Is  now  fumbling  about  our  capsized  Mousquetaire, 
A  beetle-brow'd  hag,    With  a  knife  and  a  bag, 
And  an  old  tatter'd  bonnet  which,  thrown  back,  discloses 
The  ginger  complexion,  and  one  of  those  noses 
Peculiar  to  females  named  Levy  and  Moses, 
Such  as  nervous  folks  still,  when  they  come  in  their  way,  shun 
Old  vixen-faced  tramps  of  the  Hebrew  persuasion. 

You  remember,  I  trust,    Francois  Xavier  Auguste, 
Had  uncommon  fine  limbs  and  a  very  fine  bust. 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

Now  there's  something — I  cannot  tell  what  it  may  be — 
About  good-looking  gentlemen  turn'd  twenty -three, 
Above  all  when  laid  up  with  a  wound  in  the  knee, 
Which  affects  female  hearts  in  no  common  degree 
With  emotions  in  which  many  feelings  combine, 
Very  easy  to  fancy,  though  hard  to  define ; 

Ugly  or  pretty,    Stupid  or  witty, 
Young  or  old,  they  experience,  in  country  or  city, 
What's  clearly  not  Love — yet  it's  warmer  than  Pity— 
And  some  such  a  feeling,  no  doubt,  'tis  that  stays 
The  hand  you  may  see  that  old  Jezebel  raise, 

Arm'd  with  the  blade,    So  oft  used  in  her  trade, 
The  horrible  calling  e'en  now  she  is  plying, 
Despoiling  the  dead,  and  despatching  the  dying  ! 
For  these  "  nimble  Conveyancers,"  after  such  battles, 
Regarding  as  treasure  trove  all  goods  and  chattels, 
Think  nought,  in  "  perusing  and  settling  "  the  titles, 
So  safe  as  six  inches  of  steel  in  the  vitals. 

Now  don't  make  a  joke  of,    That  feeling  I  spoke  of  ; 
For,  as  sure  as  you're  born,  that  same  feeling, — whate'er 
It  may  be,  saves  the  life  of  the  young  Mousquetaire ! — 
The  knife,  that  was  levell'd  erewhile  at  his  throat, 
Is  employ 'd  now  in  ripping  the  lace  from  his  coat, 
And  from  what,  I  suppose,  I  must  call  his  culotte; 

And  his  pockets,  no  doubt,    Being  turn'd  inside  out, 
That  his  mouchoir  and  gloves  may  be  put  "  up  the  spout " 
(For  of  coin,  you  may  well  conceive,  all  she  can  do 
Fails  to  ferret  out  even  a  single  ecu)  ; 
As  a  muscular  Giant  would  handle  an  elf, 
The  virago  at  last  lifts  the  soldier  himself, 
And,  like  a  She-Samson,  at  length  lays  him  down 
In  a  hospital  f orm'd  in  a  neighbouring  town ! 

I  am  not  very  sure,    But  I  think  'twas  Namur  ; 
And  there  she  now  leaves  him,  expecting  a  cure. 

CANTO   II. 

I  ABOMINATE  physic — I  care  not  who  knows 

That  there's  nothing  on  earth  I  detest  like  "  a  dose," — 

That  yellowish-green-looking  fluid,  whose  hue 

I  consider  extremely  unpleasant  to  view, 


128  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

With  its  sickly  appearance,  that  trenches  so  near 
On  what  Homer  defines  the  complexion  of  Fear  ; 

XAopoj/  Sfos,  I  mean,    A  nasty  pale  green, 
Though  for  want  of  some  word  that  may  better  avail, 
I  presume,  our  translators  have  rendered  it  "  pale  ; " 

For  consider  the  cheeks    Of  those  "  well-booted  Greeks," 
Their  Egyptian  descent  was  a  question  of  weeks  ; 
Their  complexion,  of  course,  like  a  half-decayed  leek's  ; 
And  you'll  see  in  an  instant  the  thing  that  I  mean  in  it, 
A  Greek  face  in  a  funk  had  a  good  deal  of  green  in  it 

I  repeat,  I  abominate  physic ;  but  then, 

If  folks  will  go  campaigning  about  with  such  men 

As  the  Great  Prince  de  Cond6s  and  Marshal  Turenne, 

They  may  fairly  expect    To  be  now  and  then  check'd 
By  a  bullet  or  sabre-cut.    Then  their  best  solace  is 
Found,  I  admit,  in  green  potions  and  boluses  ; 

So,  of  course,  I  don't  blame    St.  Foix,  wounded  and 
If  he  swallow'd  a  decent  qvunt.  suff.  of  the  same  ; 
Though  I'm  told,  in  such  cases,  it's  not  the  French  plan 
To  pour  in  their  drastics  as  fast  as  they  can, 
The  practice  of  many  an  English  Savan, 

But  to  let  off  a  man    With  a  little  ptisanne, 
And  gently  to  chafe  the  patella  (knee-pan). 

"  Oh,  woman  ! "  Sir  Walter  observes,  "  when  the  brow 
's  wrung  with  pain,  what  a  minist'ring  Angel  art  thou  ! a 
Thou'rt  a  "  minist'ring  Angel "  in  no  less  degree, 
I  can  boldly  assert,  when  the  pain's  in  the  knee  : 

And  medical  friction,    Is,  past  contradiction, 
Much  better  perform'd  by  a  She  than  a  He. 
A  fact  which,  indeed,  comes  within  my  own  knowledge, 
For  I  well  recollect,  when  a  youngster  at  College, 

And,  therefore,  can  quote    A  surgeon  of  note, 
Mr.  Grosvenor,  of  Oxford,  who  not  only  wrote 
On  the  subject  a  very  fine  treatise,  but,  still  as  his 
Patients  came  in,  certain  soft-handed  Phyllises 
Were  at  once  set  to  work  on  their  legs,  arms,  and  backs, 
And  rubb'd  out  their  complaints  in  a  couple  of  cracks. — 

Now  they  say,    To  this  day, 

When  sick  people  can't  pay 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  129 

On  the  Continent,  many  of  this  kind  of  nurses 

Attend  without  any  demand  on  their  purses  ; 

And  these  females,  some  old,  others  still  in  their  teens, 

Some  call  "  Sisters  of  Charity,"  others  "  Beguines." 

They  don't  take  the  vows  ;  but,  half -Nun  and  half -Lay, 

Attend  you ;  and  when  you've  got  better,  they  say, 

"  You're  exceedingly  welcome !    There's  nothing  to  pay. 

Our  task  is  now  done ;    You  are  able  to  run. 
We  never  take  money ;  we  cure  you  for  fun  ! " 
Then  they  drop  you  a  curt'sy,  and  wish  you  good  day, 
And  go  off  to  cure  somebody  else  the  same  way. 
—A  great  many  of  these,  at  the  date  of  my  tale, 
In  Namur  walk'd  the  hospitals,  workhouse,  and  jail. 

Among  them  was  one,    A  most  sweet  Demi-nun, 
Her  cheek  pensive  and  pale  ;  tresses  bright  as  the  Sun,-- 
Not  carroty — no  ;  though  you'd  fancy  you  saw  burn 
Such  locks  as  the  Greeks  loved,  which  moderns  call  auburn. 
These  were  partially  seen  through  the  veil  which  they  wore  all 
Her  teeth  were  of  pearl,  and  her  lips  were  of  coral ; 
Her  eye-lashes  silken ;  her  eyes,  fine  large  blue  ones  ; 
Were  sapphires  (I  don't  call  these  similes  new  ones  ; 
But,  in  metaphors,  freely  confess  I've  a  leaning 
To  such,  new  or  old,  as  convey  best  one's  meaning).— 
Then,  for  figure  ?    In  faith  it  was  downright  barbarity 

To  muffle  a  form    Might  an  anchorite  warm 
In  the  fusty  stuff  gown  of  a  Sceur  de  la  Charite; 
And  no  poet  could  fancy,  no  painter  could  draw 
One  more  perfect  in  all  points,  more  free  from  a  flaw, 
Than  hers  who  now  sits  by  the  couch  of  St.  Foix, 

Chafing  there,    With  such  care, 

And  so  dove-like  an  air, 
His  leg,  till  her  delicate  fingers  are  charr'd 
With  the  Steer's  opodeldoc,  joint-oil,  and  goulard  ; 
—Their  Dutch  appellations  are  really  too  hard 
To  be  brought  into  verse  by  a  transmarine  Bard. — 

Now  you'll  see,    And  agree, 

I  am  certain,  with  me, 
When  a  young  man's  laid  up  with  a  wound  in  his  knee, 

And  a  lady  sits  there,    On  a  rush-bottom'd  chair, 
To  hand  him  the  mixtures  his  doctors  prepare, 


130  THE  JNGOLDSBY  LEGENDS, 

And  a  bit  of  lump-sugar  to  make  matters  square  ; 
Above  all,  when  the  Lady's  remarkably  fair, 
And  the  wounded  young  man  is  a  gay  Mousquetaire, 
It's  a  ticklish  affair,  you  may  swear,  for  the  pair, 
And  may  lead  on  to  mischief  before  they're  aware. 

I  really  don't  think,  spite  of  what  friends  would  call  his 

"Penchant  for  liaisons"  and  graver  men  " follies " 

(For  my  own  part,  I  think  planting  thorns  on  their  pillows. 

And  leaving  poor  maidens  to  weep  and  wear  willows, 

Is  not  to  be  class'd  among  mere  peccadilloes), 

His  "faults,"  I  should  say— I  don't  think  Francois  Xavier 

Entertain'd  any  thoughts  of  improper  behaviour 

Tow'rds  his  nurse,  or  that  once  to  induce  her  to  sin  he  meant 

While  superintending  his  draughts  and  his  liniment : 

But,  as  he  grew  stout,    And  was  getting  about, 
Thoughts  came  into  his  head  that  had  better  been  out ; 

While  Cupid's  an  urchin    We  know  deserves  birching 
He's  so  prone  to  delude  folks,  and  leave  them  the  lurch  in. 

'Twas  doubtless  his  doing    That  absolute  ruin 
Was  the  end  of  all  poor  dear  Ther&e's  shampooing. — 
'Tis  a  subject  I  don't  like  to  dwell  on ;  but  such 
Things  will  happen— ay,  e'en  'mongst  the  phlegmatic  Dutch. 

"When  Woman,"  as  Goldsmith  declares,  "stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  out  too  late  that  false  man  can  betray," 

She  is  apt  to  look  dismal,  and  grow  "  melan-choly," 
And,  in  short,  to  be  anything  rather  than  gay. 

He  goes  on  to  remark  that  "  to  punish  her  lover, 
Wring  his  bosom,  and  draw  the  tear  into  his  eye, 

There  is  but  one  method  "  which  he  can  discover 
That's  likely  to  answer — that  one  is  "  to  die ! " 

He's  wrong — the  wan  and  withering  cheek ; 

The  thin  lips,  pale,  and  drawn  apart ; 
The  dim  yet  tearless  eyes,  that  speak 

The  misery  of  the  breaking  heart ; 

The  wasted  form,  th'  enfeebled  tone 
That  whispering  mocks  the  pitying  ear  ; 

Th'  imploring  glances  heavenward  thrown, 
As  heedless,  helpless,  hopeless  here ; 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  131 

These  wring  the  false  one's  heart  enough, 
If  "  made  of  penetrable  stuff." 

And  poor  Ther^se    Thus  pines  and  decays, 
Till,  stung  with  remorse,  St.  Foix  takes  a  post-chaise 

With,  for  "  wheelers,"  two  bays, 

And,  for  "  leaders,"  two  greys, 
And  soon  reaches  France,  by  the  help  of  relays. 
Flying  shabbily  off  from  the  sight  of  his  victim, 
And  driving  as  fast  as  if  Old  Nick  had  kick'd  him. 

She,  poor  sinner,    Grows  thinner  and  thinner, 
Leaves  off  eating  breakfast,  and  luncheon,  and  dinner, 
Till  you'd  really  suppose  she  could  have  nothing  in  her.— 
One  evening — 'twas  just  as  the  clock  struck  eleven — 
They  saw  she'd  been  sinking  fast  ever  since  seven, 
She  breath'd  one  deep  sigh,  threw  one  look  up  to  Heaven, 

And  all  was  o'er ! —    Poor  Therese  was  no  more— 
She  was  gone ! — the  last  breath  that  she  managed  to  draw 
Escaped  in  one  half-utter'd  word — 'twas  "  St.  Foix  1 " 


Who  can  fly  from  himself  1    Bitter  cares,  when  you  feel  'em, 
Are  not  cured  by  travel— as  Horace  says,  "  Ccelum, 
Non  aniyium  mutant  qui  currunt  trans  mare ! " 
It's  climate,  not  mind,  that  by  roaming  men  vary — 
Remorse  from  temptation  to  which  you  have  yielded,  is 
A  shadow  you  can't  sell  as  Peter  Schlemil  did  his  ; 
It  haunts  you  for  ever — in  bed  and  at  board, — 

Ay,  e'en  in  your  dreams.    And  you  can't  find,  it  seems, 
Any  proof  that  a  guilty  man  ever  yet  snored  ! 
It  is  much  if  he  slumbers  at  all,  which  but  few 
— Francois  Xavier  Auguste  was  an  instance — can  do. 

Indeed,  from  the  time    He  committed  the  crime 
Which  cut  off  poor  sister  Therese  in  her  prime, 
He  was  not  the  same  man  that  he  had  been — his  plan 
Was  quite  changed — in  wild  freaks  he  no  more  led  the  van  ; 

He'd  scarce  sleep  a  wink  in    A  week ;  but  sit  thinking, 

From  company  shrinking —    He  quite  gave  up  drinking 
At  the  mess-table,  too,  where  now  seldom  he  came, 
Fish,  fricassee,  fricandeau,  potage,  or  game, 
Dindon  aux  tru/es,  or  turbot  a  la  creme, 


132  THE  INGOLDKBY  LEGENDS. 

No ! — he  still  shook  his  head, — it  was  always  the  same, 
Still  he  never  complain'd  that  the  cook  was  to  blaiuc  ! 
Twas  his  appetite  fail'd  him — no  matter  how  rare 
And  recherche  the  dish,  how  delicious  the  fare, — 
What  he  used  to  like  best  he  no  longer  could  bear ; 

But  he'd  there  sit  and  stare    With  an  air  of  despair ; 

Took  no  care,  but  would  wear    Boots  that  wanted  repair  ; 
Such  a  shirt  too  !  you'd  think  he'd  no  linen  to  spare. 
He  omitted  to  shave ;  he  neglected  his  hair, 
And  look'd  more  like  a  Guy  than  a  gay  Mousquetaire. 

One  thing,  above  all,  most  excited  remark ; 
In  the  evening  he  seldom  sat  long  after  dark, 
Not  that  then,  as  of  yore,  he'd  go  out  for  "  a  lark  " 

With  his  friends  ;  but  when  they,    After  taking  cafe, 
Would  have  broil'd  bones  and  kidneys  brought  in  on  a  tray, 
— Which  I  own  I  consider  a  very  good  way, 
If  a  man's  not  dyspeptic,  to  wind  up  the  day — 
No  persuasion  on  earth,  could  induce  him  to  stay  ; 
But  he'd  take  up  his  candlestick,  just  nod  his  head, 
By  way  of  "  Good  evening  ! "  and  walk  off  to  bed. 
Yet  even  when  there  he  seem'd  no  better  off, 
For  he'd  wheeze,  and  he'd  sneeze,  and  he'd  hem!  and  he'd 
cough. 

And  they'd  hear  him  all  night, 

Sometimes,  sobbing  outright, 
While  his  valet,  who  often  endeavour'd  to  peep, 
Declared  that  "  his  master  was  never  asleep  1 
But  would  sigh,  and  would  groan,  slap  his  forehead,  and  weep ; 

That  about  ten  o'clock    His  door  he  would  lock, 
And  then  never  would  open  it,  let  who  would  knock  ! — 

He  had  heard  him,"  he  said, 

"  Sometimes  jump  out  of  bed, 
And  talk  as  if  speaking  to  one  who  was  dead  ! 

He'd  groan,  and  he'd  moan,    In  so  piteous  a  tone, 
Begging  some  one  or  other  to  let  him  alone, 
That  it  really  would  soften  tne  heart  of  a  stone 
To  hear  him  exclaim  so,  and  call  upon  Heaven 
Then — The  bother  began  always  just  at  eleven  !  " 

Francois  Xavier  Auguste,  as  I've  told  you  before, 
I  believe  was  a  popular  man  in  his  corps, 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  133 

And  his  comrades,  not  one     Of  whom  knew  of  the  Nun, 
Now  began  to  consult  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

Count  Cordon  Bleu    And  the  Sieur  de  la  Roue 
Confess'd  they  did  not  know  at  all  what  to  do  : 
But  the  Chevalier  Hippolyte  Hector  Achille 
Alphonse  Stanislaus  Emile  de  Grandville 

Made  a  fervent  appeal    To  the  zeal  they  must  feel 
For  their  friend,  so  distinguish'd  an  officer,  's  weal. 
"  The  first  thing,"  he  said,  "  was  to  find  out  the  matter 
That  bored  their  poor  friend  so,  and  caused  all  this  clatter — 

Mort  de  ma  vie  !  "    — Here  he  took  some  rappee — 
"  Be  the  cause  what  it  may,  he  shall  tell  it  to  me  ! " — 
He  was  right,  sure  enough — in  a  couple  of  days 
He  worms  out  the  whole  story  of  Sister  Therese, 
Now  entomb'd,  poor  dear  soul !  in  some  Dutch  Pere  la  Chaist 
— "  But  the  worst  thing  of  all,"  Fran9ois  Xavier  declares, 
"  Is,  whenever  I've  taken  my  candle  upstairs, 
There's  There'se  sitting  there — upon  one  of  those  chairs  ! 

Such  a  frown,  too,  she  wears,    And  so  frightfully  glares, 
That  I'm  really  prevented  from  saying  my  pray'rs, 
While  an  odour, — the  very  reverse  of  perfume, — 
More  like  rhubarb  or  senna,  pervades  the  whole  room  !  " 

Hector  Achille    Stanislaus  Emile 
When  he  heard  him  talk  so  felt  an  odd  sort  of  feel ; 
Not  that  he  cared  for  Ghosts — he  was  far  too  genteel ; 
Still  a  queerish  sensation  came  on  when  he  saw 

Him,  whom,  for  fun,    They'd,  by  way  of  a  pun 
On  his  person  and  principles,  nick -named  Sans  Foi, 

A  man  whom  they  had,  you  see, 

Mark'd  as  a  Sadducee, — 

In  his  horns,  all  at  once,  so  completely  to  draw, 
And  to  talk  of  a  Ghost  with  such  manifest  awe  ! — 
It  excited  the  Chevalier  Grandville's  surprise  ; 
He  shrugg'd  up  his  shoulders,  he  turn'd  up  his  eyes, 
And  he  thought  with  himself  that  he  could  not  do  less 
Than  lay  the  whole  matter  before  the  whole  Mess. 

Repetition's  detestable  ;—     So,  as  you're  best  able 
Paint  to  yourself  the  effect  at  the  Mess-table— 

How  the  bold  Brigadiers    Prick'd  up  their  ears, 
And  received  the  account,  some  with  fears,  some  with  sneera 


134  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

How  the  Sieur  de  la  Roue    Said  to  Count  Cordon  Bleu, 
"  Ma  Foi — c'est  bien  drdle — Monseigneur  what  say  you  1 " — 

How  Count  Cordon  Bleu 

Declared  he  "  thought  so  too ;  "— 

How  the  Colonel  affirm'd  that  "  the  case  was  quite  new  : " — 
How  the  Captains  and  Majors    Began  to  lay  wagers 
How  far  the  Ghost  part  of  the  story  was  true ; — 
How,  at  last,  when  ask'd  "  What  was  the  best  thing  to  do  ? " 
Everybody  was  silent,— for  nobody  knew ! 
And  how,  in  the  end,  they  said,  "  No  one  could  deal 
With  the  matter  so  •'well,  from  his  prudence  and  zeal 
As  the  Gentleman  who  was  the  first  to  reveal 
This  strange  story — viz.  Hippolyte  Hector  Achille 
Alphonse  Stanislaus  Emile  de  Grandville ! 

I  need  scarcely  relate    The  plans,  little  and  great, 
Which  came  into  the  Chevalier  Hippolyte's  pate 
To  rescue  his  friend  from  his  terrible  foes, 
Those  mischievous  Imps,  whom  the  world,  I  suppose 
From  extravagant  notions  respecting  their  hue, 
Has  strangely  agreed  to  denominate  "  Blue," 
Inasmuch  as  his  schemes  were  of  no  more  avail 
Than  those  he  had,  early  in  life,  found  to  fail, 
When  he  strove  to  lay  salt  on  some  little  bird's  tail 

In  vain  did  he  try    With  strong  waters  to  ply 

His  friend,  on  the  ground  that  he  never  could  spy 
Such  a  thing  as  a  Ghost,  with  a  drop  in  his  eye  ; 
St.  Foix  never  would  drink  now  unless  he  was  dry  ; 
Besides,  what  the  vulgar  call  u  sucking  the  monkey  " 
Has  much  less  effect  on  a  man  when  he's  funky. 
In  vain  did  he  strive  to  detain  him  at  table 
Till  his  "  dark  hour  "  was  over — he  never  was  able, 

Save  once,  when  at  Mess,    With  that  sort  of  address, 
Which  the  British  call  "  Humbug  "  and  Frenchmen  "  Finesse  ' 
(It's  "  Blarney  "  in  Irish — I  don't  know  the  Scotch), 
He  fell  to  admiring  his  friend's  English  watch. 

He  examined  the  face,    And  the  back  of  the  case, 
And  the  young  Lady's  portrait  there,  done  on  enamel,  he 
**  Saw  by  the  likeness  was  one  of  the  Family ; " 

Cried  "  Superbe ! — Magnifique  I " 

(,With  his  tongue  in  his  cheek) — 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  135 

Then  he  open'd  the  case,  just  to  take  a  peep  in  it,  and 
Seized  the  occasion  to  put  back  the  minute  hand. 
With  a  demi-conge,  and  a  shrug,  and  a  grin,  he 
Returns  the  bijou  and — c'est  une  affaire  finie  — 
"  I've  done  him,"  thinks  he,  "  now  I'll  wager  a  guinea !  " 

It  happen'd  that  day    They  were  all  very  gay, 
Twas   the    Grand   Monarque's   birthday — that  is,   'twas  St. 

Louis's, 
Which  in  Catholic  countries,  of  course,  they  would  view  as 

his — 

So  when  Hippolyte  saw    Him  about  to  withdraw, 
He  cried,  "  Come — that  won't  do,  my  fine  fellow,  St.  Foix,— 
Give  us  five  minutes  longer,  and  drink  Vive  le  Roi  !  " 

Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste,    Without  any  mistrust, 
Of  the  trick  that  was  play'd,  drew  his  watch  from  his  fob, 
Just  glanced  at  the  hour,  then  agreed  to  "  hob-nob," 

Fill'd  a  bumper,  and  rose — With  "  Messieurs,  I  propose-  •" 
He  paused — his  blanch 'd  lips  fail'd  to  utter  the  toast. 
Twas  eleven  / — he  thought  it  half-past  ten  at  most — 
Ev'ry  limb,  nerve,  and  muscle  grew  firm  as  a  post. — 
His  jaw  dropp'd — his  eyes    Swell'd  to  twice  their  own  size — 
And  he  stood  as  a  pointer  would  stand— at  a  Ghost ! 
— Then  shriek'd,  as  he  fell  on  the  floor  like  a  stone, 
"  Ah !  Sister  There*se !  now — do  let  me  alone  ! " 

It's  amazing  by  sheer  perseverance  what  men  do,— 

As  water  wears  stone  by  the  "  Scepe  cadendo  " 

If  they  stick  to  Lord  Somebody's  motto,  "  Agendo  ! " 

Was  it  not  Robert  Bruce  ?— I  declare  I've  forgot, 

But  I  think  it  was  Robert— you'll  find  it  in  Scott — 

Who,  when  cursing  Dame  Fortune,  was  taught  by  a  Spider, 

"  She's  sure  to  come  round,  if  you  will  but  abide  her." 

Then  another  great  Rob,    Call'd  "  White-headod  Bob," 
Whom  I  once  saw  receive  such  a  tlmmp  on  the  "nob  " 
From  a  fist  which  might  almost  an  elephant  brain, 
That  I  really  believed,  at  the  first,  he  was  slain, 
For  he  lay  like  a  log  on  his  back  on  the  plain, 
Till  a  gentleman  present  accustom'd  to  train, 
Drew  out  a  small  lancet,  and  open'd  a  vein 
Just  below  his  left  eye,  which  relieving  the  pain, 


186  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

He  stood  up  like  a  trump,  with  an  air  of  disdain, 

While  his  "  backer  "  was  fain — 

For  he  could  not  refrain — 

(He  was  dress'd  in  pea-green,  with  a  pin  and  gold  chain, 
And  I  think  I  heard  somebody  call  him  "  Squire  Hayue,") 
To  whisper  ten  words  one  should  always  retain, 
—"TAKE  A  SUCK  AT  THE  LEMON  AND  AT  HIM  AGAIN  !!!''- 
A  hint  ne'er  surpass'd,  though  thus  spoken  at  random, 
Since  Teucer's  apostrophe — Nil  desperandum ! 
Qranville  acted  on  it,  and  orderM  his  Tandem. 

He  had  heard  St  Foix  say,    That  no  very  great  way 
From  Namur  was  a  snug  little  town  called  Grandpre, 
Near  which,  a  few  miles  from  the  banks  of  the  Maese, 
Dwelt  a  pretty  twin-sister  of  poor  dear  Therese, 
Of  the  same  age,  of  course,  the  same  father,  same  mother, 
And  as  like  to  Therese  as  one  pea  to  another  ; 

She  lived  with  her  Mamma,    Having  lost  her  Papa, 
Late  of  contraband  schnaps  an  unlicensed  distiller, 
And  her  name  was  Des  Moulins  (in  English,  Miss  Miller). 

Now,  though  Hippolyte  Hector 

Could  hardly  expect  her 
To  feel  much  regard  for  her  sister's  "  protector," 
When  she'd  seen  him  so  shamefully  leave  and  neglect  her  ; 

Still,  he  very  well  knew    In  this  world  there  are  few 
But  are  ready  much  Christian  forgiveness  to  show 
For  other  folk's  wrongs — if  well  paid  so  to  do — 
And  he'd  seen  to  what  acts  "  Res  angustce  "  compel  beaux 
And  belles,  whose  affairs  have  once  got  out  at  elbows, 
With  the  magic  effect  of  a  handful  of  crowns 
Upon  people  whose  pockets  boast  nothing  but  "  browns  ; M 

A  few  francs  well  applied    He'd  no  doubt  would  decide 
Miss  Agnes  Des  Moulins  to  jump  up  and  ride 
As  far  as  head-quarters,  next  day,  by  his  side  ; 
For  the  distance  was  nothing,  to  speak  by  comparison, 
To  the  town  where  the  Mousquetaires  now  lay  in  garrison  ; 

Then  he  thought,  by  the  aid    Of  a  veil,  and  gown  made 
Like  those  worn  by  the  lady  his  friend  had  betray'd, 
They  might  dress  up  Miss  Agnes  so  like  to  the  Shade, 
Which  he  fancied  he  saw,  of  that  poor  injured  maid, 
Come  each  uight,  with  her  pale  face,  his  guilt  to  upbraid  ; 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  187 

That  if  once  introduced  to  his  room,  thus  array'd, 
And  then  unmask'd  as  soon  as  she'd  long  enough  stay"d, 
'Twould  be  no  very  difficult  task  to  persuade 
Him  the  whole  was  a  scurvy  trick,  cleverly  play*d, 
Out  of  spite  and  revenge,  by  a  mischievous  jade ! 

With  respect  to  the  scheme — though  I  do  not  call  that  a  gem 
Still  I've  known  soldiers  adopt  a  worse  stratagem, 
And  that,  too,  among  the  decided  approvers 
Of  General  Sir  David  Dundas's  "  Manoeuvres." 

There's  a  proverb,  however,    I've  always  thought  clever, 
Which  my  Grandmother  never  was  tired  of  repeating, 
"  The  proof  of  the  Pudding  is  found  in  the  eating ! " 
We  shall  see,  in  the  sequel,  how  Hector  Achille 
Had  mix'd  up  the  suet  and  plums  for  his  meal 

The  night  had  set  in  ; — 'twas  a  dark  and  a  gloomy  one  :— 
Off  went  St.  Foix  to  his  chamber  ;  a  roomy  one, 

Five  stories  high,    The  first  floor  from  the  sky, 
And  lofty  enough  to  afford  great  facility 
For  playing  a  game,  with  the  youthful  nobility, 

Of  " crack  corps"  a  deal  in  Request,  when  they're  feeling, 
In  dull  country  quarters,  ennui  on  them  stealing  ; 

A  wet  wafer's  applied    To  a  sixpence's  side, 
Then  it's  spun  with  the  thumb  up  to  stick  on  the  ceiling  ; 
Intellectual  amusement,  which  custom  allows  old  troops, — 
I've  seen  it  here  practised  at  home  by  our  Household  troops. 

He'd  a  table,  and  bed,    And  three  chairs  ;  and  all's  said. 
A  bachelor's  barrack,  where'er  you  discern  it,  you're 
Sure  not  to  find  over-burthen'd  with  furniture, 

Fran$ois  Xavier  Auguste  lock'd  and  bolted  his  door 
With  just  the  same  caution  he'd  practised  before  ; 

Little  he  knew    That  the  Count  Cordon  Bleu, 
With  Hector  Achille,  and  the  Sieur  de  la  Roue, 
Had  been  up  there  before  him,  and  drawn  eVry  screw ! 

And  now  comes  the  moment — the  watches  and  clocks 

All  point  to  eleven  I — the  bolts  and  the  locks 

Give  way — and  the  party  turn  out  their  bag-fox ! — 

With  step  noiseless  and  light,    Though  half  in  a  fright, 
A  cup  in  her  left  hand,  a  draught  in  her  right, 

E* 


138  THE  INGOLDSSY  LEGENDS. 

In  her  robe  long  and  black,  and  her  veil  long  and  white, 
Ma'amselle  Agnes  des  Moulins  walks  in  as  a  sprite ! — 

She  approaches  the  bed    With  the  same  silent  tread 
Just  as  though  she  had  been  at  least  half  a  year  dead ! 
Then  seating  herself  on  the  "  rush-bottom'd  chair,' 
Throws  a  cold  stony  glance  on  the  Black  Mousquetaire. 

If  you're  one  of  the  "  play-going  public,"  kind  reader, 
And  not  a  Moravian  or  rigid  Seceder, 

You've  seen  Mr.  Kean,    I  mean  in  that  scene 
Of  Macbeth, — by  some  thought  the  crack  one  of  the  piece, 
Which  has  been  so  well  painted  by  Mr.  M'Clise, — 
When  he  wants,  after  having  stood  up  to  say  grace, 
To  sit  down  to  his  haggis,  and  can't  find  a  place ; 

You  remember  his  stare    At  the  high-back'd  arm-chair 
Where  the  Ghost  sits  that  nobody  else  knows  is  there, 
And  how,  after  saying,  "  What  man  dares  I  dare  ! " 

He  proceeds  to  declare    He  should  not  so  much  care 
If  it  came  in  the  shape  of  a  "  tiger  "  or  "  bear," 
But  he  don't  like  it  shaking  its  long  gory  hair ! 
While  the  obstinate  Ghost,  as  determined  to  brave  him 

With  a  horrible  grin,    Sits,  and  cock's  up  his  chin, 
Just  as  though  he  was  asking  the  tyrant  to  shave  him. 

And  Lennox  and  Ross    Seem  quite  at  a  loss 
If  they  ought  to  go  on  with  their  sheep's  head  and  sauce ; 
And  Lady  Macbeth  looks  uncommonly  cross, 

And  says  in  a  huff    It's  all  "  Proper  stuff ! " — 
All  this  you'll  have  seen,  Reader,  often  enough  ; 
So,  perhaps  'twill  assist  you  in  forming  some  notion 
Of  what  must  have  been  Francis  Xavier's  emotion 

If  you  fancy  what  troubled    Macbeth  to  be  doubled, 
And,  instead  of  one  Banquo  to  stare  in  his  face 
Without  "  speculation,"  suppose  he'd  a  brace ! 

I  wish  I'd  poor  Fuseli's  pencil,  who  ne'er  I  bel- 
ieve was  exceeded  in  painting  the  terrible, 

Or  that  of  Sir  Joshua    Reynolds,  who  was  so  a- 
droit  in  depicting  it — vide  his  piece 
Descriptive  of  Cardinal  Beaufort's  decease, 

Where  that  prelate  is  lying,    Decidedly  dying, 
With  the  King  and  his  suite,    Standing  just  at  his  feet, 
And  his  hands,  as  Dame  Quickly  says,  fumbling  the  sheet ; 


THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE.  139 

While,  close  at  his  ear,  with  the  air  of  a  scorner, 

"  Busy,  meddling,"  Old  Nick's  grinning  up  in  the  corner. 

But  painting's  an  art  I  confess  I  am  raw  in, 

The  fact  is,  I  never  took  lessons  in  drawing, 

Had  I  done  so,  instead    Of  the  lines  you  have  read, 
I'd  have  giv"n  you  a  sketch  should  have  fill'd  you  with  dread  ! 
Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  squatting  up  in  his  bed, 
His  hands  widely  spread,  His  complexion  like  lead, 
Ev'ry  hair  that  he  has  standing  up  on  his  head, 
As  when  Agnes  des  Moulins  first  catching  his  view, 
Now  right,  and  now  left,  rapid  glances  he  threw, 
Then  shriek'd  with  a  wild  and  unearthly  halloo, 

"  Mon  Dieu !  v'lct  deux  ! 

BY  THE  POPE  THERE  ARE  TWO  !  !1 " 

He  fell  back — one  long  aspiration  he  drew. 
In  flew  De  la  Roue,    And  Count  Cordon  Bleu, 
Pommade,  Pomme-de-terre,  and  the  rest  of  their  crew. 
He  stirr'd  not, — he  spoke  not, — he  none  of  them  knew, 
And  Achille  cried,  "  Odzooks  !    I  fear  by  his  looks, 
Our  friend,  Fransois  Xavier,  has  popp'd  off  the  hooks  ! " 

'Twas  too  true  !    Malheureux !  ! 
It  was  done  ! — he  had  ended  his  earthly  career, — 
He  had  gone  off  at  once  with  a  flea  in  his  ear  ; 
— The  Black  Mousquetaire  was  as  dead  as  Small-beer ! ! 

UEnvoye. 

A  moral  more  in  point  I  scarce  could  hope 
Than  this,  from  Mr.  Alexander  Pope. 

If  ever  chance  should  bring  some  Cornet  gay 
And  pious  Maid, — as,  possibly,  it  may, — 

rom  Knightsbridge  Barracks,  and  the  shades  serene 
Of  Clapham  Rise,  as  far  as  Kensal  Green  ; 
O'er  some  pale  marble  when  they  join  their  heads 
To  kiss  the  falling  tears  each  other  sheds  ; 
Oh  !  may  they  pause  ! — and  think,  in  silent  awe, 
He,  that  lie  reads  the  words,  "  Ci  git  St.  Foix  ! " 
She,  that  the  tombstone  which  her  eye  surveys 
Bears  this  sad  line, — "  Hicjacet  Soeur  Therese  I " 
Then  shall  they  sigh,  and  weep,  and  murmuring  say, 
*  Oh !  may  we  never  play  such  tricks  as  they ! " — 


140  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  if  at  such  a  time  some  Bard  there  be, 

Some  sober  Bard,  addicted  much  to  tea 

And  sentimental  song — like  Ingoldsby — 

If  such  there  be — who  sings  and  sips  so  well, 

Let  him  this  sad,  this  tender  story  tell ! 

Warn'd  by  the  tale,  the  gentle  pair  shall  boast, 

"  I've  'scaped  the  Broken  Heart ! "— "  aud  I  the  Ghost ! !" 


Rupert    tfee    4fearUsfSu 

A    LEGEND    OF    GERMANY. 

SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS,  a  gallant  young  knight, 
Was  equally  ready  to  tipple  or  fight, 

Crack  a  crown,  or  a  bottle,    Cut  sirloin,  or  throttle  ! 
In  brief,  or,  as  Hume  says,  "  to  sum  up  the  tottle," 
Unstain'd  by  dishonour,  unsullied  by  fear, 
All  his  neighbours  pronounced  him  a  preux  chevalier. 

Despite  these  perfections,  corporeal  and  mental, 
He  had  one  slight  defect,  viz.  a  rather  lean  rental ; 
Besides,  as  'tis  own'd  there  are  spots  in  the  sun, 
So  it  must  be  confess'd  that  Sir  Rupert  had  one  ; 

Being  rather  unthinking,    He'd  scarce  sleep  a  wink  in 
A  night,  but  addict  himself  sadly  to  drinking, 

And  what  moralists  say    Is  as  naughty — to  play, 
To  Rouge  et  Noir,  Hazard,  Short  Whist,  Ecarte  ; 
Till  these,  and  a  few  less  defensible  fancies, 
Brought  the  Knight  to  the  end  of  his  slender  finances. 

When  at  length  through  his  boozing, 

And  tenants  refusing 
Their  rents,  swearing  "  times  were  so  bad  they  were  losing," 

His  steward  said,  "  O,  sir,    It's  some  time  ago,  sir, 
Since  aught  through  my  hands  reach'd  the  baker  or  grocer, 
And  the  tradesmen  in  general  are  grown  great  complainers," 
Sir  Rupert  the  Brave  thus  address'd  his  retainers  : 

'  My  friends,  since  the  stock    Of  my  father's  old  hock 
Is  out,  with  the  Kirschwasser,  Barsac,  Moselle, 
And  we  re  fairly  reduced  to  the  pump  and  the  well, 


SIM  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS.  141 

I  presume  to  suggest,    We  shall  all  find  it  best 
For  each  to  shake  hands  with  his  friends  ere  he  goes, 
Mount  his  horse,  if  he  has  one,  and — follow  his  nose  ; 

As  to  me,  I  opine,    Left  sans  money  or  wine, 
My  best  way  is  to  throw  myself  into  the  Khine, 
Where  pitying  travelers  may  sigh,  as  they  cross  over, 
'  Though  he  lived  a  rout,  yet  he  died  a  philosopher.' " 

The  knight,  having  boVd  out  his  friends  thus  politely, 
Got  into  his  skiff,  the  full  moon  shining  brightly, 

By  the  light  of  whose  beam, 

He  soon  spied  on  the  stream 
A  dame,  whose  complexion  was  fair  as  new  cream  ; 

Pretty  pink  silken  hose    Cover'd  ankles  and  toes, 
In  other  respects  she  was  scanty  of  clothes  ; 
For,  so  says  tradition,  both  written  and  oral, 
Her  one  garment  was  loop'd  up  with  bunches  of  coral. 

Full  sweetly  she  sang  to  a  sparkling  guitar, 
With  silver  chords  stretch'd  over  Derbyshire  spar, 

And  she  smiled  on  the  Knight, 

Who,  amazed  at  the  sight, 
Soon  found  his  astonishment  merged  in  delight ; 

But  the  stream  by  degrees    Now  rose  up  to  her  knees, 
Til]  at  length  it  invaded  her  very  chemise, 
While  the  heavenly  strain,  as  the  wave  seem'd  to  swallow  her, 
And  slowly  she  sank,  sounded  fainter  and  hollower. 
— Jumping  up  in  his  boat    And  discarding  his  coat, 
"  Here  goes,"  cried  Sir  Rupert,  "  by  jingo,  I'll  follow  her ! " 
Then  into  the  water  he  plunged  with  a  souse 
That  was  heard  quite  distinctly  by  those  in  the  house. 

Down,  down,  forty  fathom  and  more  from  the  brink, 
Sir  Rupert  the  fearless  continues  to  sink, 

And,  as  downward  he  goes,    Still  the  cold  water  flows 
Through  his  ears,  and  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth,  and  his  nose, 
Till  the  rum  and  the  brandy  he'd  swallow'd  since  lunch 
Wanted  nothing  but  lemon  to  fill  him  with  punch  : 
Some  minutes  elapsed  since  he  enter'd  the  flood, 
Ere  his  heels  touch'd  the  bottom,  and  stuck  in  the  mud. 

But  oh !  what  a  sight    Met  the  eyes  of  the  Knight, 
When  he  stood  in  the  depth  of  the  stream  bolt  upright ! — 


142  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

A  grand  stalactite  hall,    Like  the  cave  of  Fingal, 
Rose  above  and  about  him  ; — great  fishes  and  small 
Came  thronging  around  him,  regardless  of  danger, 
And  seem'd  all  agog  for  a  peep  at  the  stranger. 

Their  figures  and  forms  to  describe,  language  fails — 
They'd  such  very  odd  heads  and  such  very  odd  tails  ; 
Of  their  genus  or  species  a  sample  to  gain, 
You  would  ransack  all  Hungerford  market  in  vain  ; 

E'en  the  famed  Mr.  Myers    Would  scarcely  find  buyers, 
Though  hundreds  of  passengers  doubtless  would  stop 
To  stare,  were  such  monsters  exposed  in  his  shop. 

But  little  reck'd  Rupert  these  queer  little  brutes, 

Or  the  efts  and  the  newts    That  crawl'd  up  his  boots. 
For  a  sight,  beyond  any  of  which  I've  made  mention, 
In  a  moment  completely  absorb'd  his  attention. 
A  huge  crystal  bath,  which,  with  water  far  clearer, 
Than  George  Robins'  filters,  or  Thorpe's  (which  are  dearer), 

Have  ever  distill'd,    To  the  summit  was  fill'd, 
Lay  stretch'd  out  before  him, — and  every  nerve  thrill'd 

As  scores  of  young  women    Were  diving  and  swimming, 
Till  the  vision  a  perfect  quandary  put  him  in ; — 
All  slightly  accoutred  in  gauzes  and  lawns, 
They  came  floating  about  him  like  so  many  prawns. 

Sir  Rupert,  who  (barring  the  few  peccadilloes 
Alluded  to)  ere  he  leapt  into  the  billows 
Possess'd  irreproachable  morals,  began 
To  feel  rather  queer,  as  a  modest  young  man ; 
When  forth  stepp'd  a  dame,  whom  he  recognised  soon 
As  the  one  he  had  seen  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
And  lisp'd,  while  a  soft  smile  attended  each  sentence, 
"  Sir  Rupert,  I'm  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance  ; 
My  name  is  Lurline,    And  the  ladies  you've  seen, 
All  do  me  the  honour  to  call  me  their  Queen ; 
I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  sir,  down  in  the  Rhine  here, 
And  hope  you  can  make  it  convenient  to  dine  here." 

The  Knight  blush'd  and  bow'd,    As  he  ogled  the  crowd 
Of  subaqueous  beauties,  then  answer'd  aloud  : 
'  Ma'am,  you  do  me  much  honour, — I  cannot  express 
The  delight  I  shall  feel — if  vou'U  pardon  my  dress. — 


SIB  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS.  143 

May  I  venture  to  say,  when  a  gentleman  jumps 
In  the  river  at  midnight  for  want  of  '  the  dumps/ 
He  rarely  puts  on  his  knees-breeches  and  pumps  ; 
If  I  could  but  have  guess'd — what  I  sensibly  feel — 
Your  politeness — I'd  not  have  come  en  deshabille, 
But  have  put  on  my  silk  tights  in  lieu  of  my  steel." 
Quoth  the  lady,  "Dear  sir,  no  apologies,  pray, 
You  will  take  our  '  pot-luck '  in  the  family  way  ; 

We  can  give  you  a  dish    Of  some  decentish  fish, 
And  our  water's  thought  fairish ;  but  here  in  the  Rhine 
I  can't  say  we  pique  ourselves  much  on  our  wine." 

The  Knight  made  a  bow  more  profound  than  before, 
When  a  Dory-faced  page  oped  the  dining-room  door, 

And  said,  bending  his  knee,    "  Madame  on  a  servi  !  " 
Rupert  tender'd  his  arm,  led  Lurline  to  her  place, 
And  a  fat  little  Mer-man  stood  up  and  said  grace. 

What  boots  it  to  tell  of  the  viands,  or  how  she 
Apologised  much  for  their  plain  water-souchy, 

Want  of  Harvey's,  and  Crosse's,    And  Burgess's  sauces  ? 
Or  how  Rupert,  on  his  side,  protested,  by  Jove,  he 
Perferr'd*his  fish  plain,  without  soy  or  anchovy. 

Suffice  it  the  meal    Boasted  trout,  perch,  and  eel, 
Besides  some  remarkably  fine  salmon  peel. 
The  Knight,  sooth  to  say,  thought  much  less  of  the  fishes 
Than,  of  what  they  were  served  on,  the  massive  gold  dishes 
While  his  eye,  as  it  glanced  now  and  then  on  the  girls, 
Was  caught  by  their  persons  much  less  than  their  pearls, 
And  a  thought  came  across  him  and  caused  him  to  muse, 

"  If  I  could  but  get  hold    Of  some  of  that  gold, 
I  might  manage  to  pay  off  my  rascally  Jews  ! " 

When  dinner  was  done,  at  a  sign  to  the  lasses, 

The  table  was  clear'd,  and  they  put  on  fresh  glasses  ; 

Then  the  lady  addrest    Her  redoubtable  guest 
Much  as  Dido,  of  old,  did  the  pious  Eneas, 
"  Dear  sir,  what  induced  you  to  come  down  and  see  us  1 " — 
Rupert  gave  her  a  glance  most  bewitchingly  tender, 
Loll'd  back  in  his  chair,  put  his  toes  on  the  fender, 

And  told  her  outright    How  that  he,  a  young  Knight, 
Had  never  been  last  at  a  feast  or  a  fight ; 


144  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But  that  keeping  good  cheer,    Every  day  in  the  year, 
And  drinking  neat  wines  all  the  same  as  small- beer, 

Had  exhausted  his  rent,    And  his  money  all  spent, 
How  he  borrowed  large  sums  at  two  hundred  per  cent. ; 

How  they  followed — and  then,    The  once  civilest  of  men, 
Messrs  Howard  and  Gibbs,  made  him  bitterly  rue  it  he 
'd  ever  raised  money  by  way  of  annuity  ; 
And,  his  mortgages  being  about  to  foreclose, 
How  he  jump'd  in  the  river  to  finish  his  woes  ! 
Lurline  was  affected,  and  own'd,  with  a  tear, 
That  a  story  so  mournful  had  ne'er  met  her  ear ; 

Rupert,  hearing  her  sigh,    Look'd  uncommonly  sly, 
And  said  with  some  emphasis,  "  Ah  !  miss,  had  I 

A  few  pounds  of  those  metals    You  waste  here  on  kettles, 

Then,  Lord  once  again    Of  my  spacious  domain, 
A  free  Count  of  the  Empire  once  more  I  might  reign, 

With  Lurline  at  my  side,    My  adorable  bride 
(For  the  parson  should  come,  and  the  knot  should  be  tied) ; 
No  couple  so  happy  on  earth  should  be  seen 
As  Sir  Rupert  the  Brave  and  his  charming  Lurline ; 
Not  that  money's  my  object — No,  hang  it !  I  scorn  it — 
And  as  for  my  rank — but  that  you'd  so  adorn  it — 

I'd  abandon  it  all    To  remain  your  true  thrall, 
And  instead  of  '  the  Great,'  be  call'd  '  Rupert  the  Small ; ' 
— To  gain  but  your  smiles,  were  I  Sardanapalus, 
I'd  descend  from  my  throne,  and  be  boots  at  an  alehouse." 

Lurline  hung  her  head,    Turn'd  pale  and  then  red, 
Growing  faint  at  this  sudden  proposal  to  wed, 
As  though  his  abruptness,  in  "  popping  the  question" 
So  soon  after  dinner,  disturb'd  her  digestion. 

Then,  averting  her  eye,    With  a  lover-like  sigh 
"  You  are  welcome,"  she  murmur'd  in  tones  most  bewitching, 
"  To  every  utensil  I  have  in  my  kitchen  ! " 

Up  started  the  Knight,    Half  mad  with  delight, 

Round  her  finely-form'd  waist    He  immediately  placed 
One  arm,  which  the  lady  most  closely  embraced, 
Of  her  lily-white  fingers  the  other  made  capture, 
And  he  press'd  his  adored  to  his  bosom  with  rapture. 
"  And,  oh  ! "  he  exclaim'd,  "  let  them  go  catch  my  skiff,  T 
'11  be  home  in  a  twinkling  and  back  in  a  jiffy, 


SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS.  145 

Nor  one  moment  procrastinate  longer  my  journey 
Than  to  put  up  the  banns  and  kick  out  the  attorney." 

One  kiss  to  her  lip,  and  one  squeeze  to  her  hand, 
And  Sir  Rupert  already  was  half-way  to  land, 

For  a  sour-visaged  Triton,    With  features  would  frighten 
Old  Nick,  caught  him  up  in  one  hand,  though  no  light  one, 
Sprang  up  through  the  waves,  popp'd  him  into  his  funny, 
Which  some  others  already  had  half-fill'd  with  money  ; 
In  fact,  'twas  so  heavily  laden  with  ore 
And  pearls,  'twas  a  mercy  he  got  it  to  shore  : 

But  Sir  Rupert  was  strong,    And  while  pulling  along, 
Still  he  heard,  faintly  sounding,  the  water-nymphs'  song. 

LAY  OF  THE  NAIADS. 

"  Away !  away !  to  the  mountain's  brow, 

Where  the  castle  is  darkly  frowning ; 
And  the  vassals,  all  in  goodly  row, 

Weep  for  their  lord  a-drowning  ! 
Away  !  away !  to  the  steward's  room, 

Where  law  with  its  wig  and  robe  is ; 
Throw  us  out  John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe, 

And  sweetly  we'll  tickle  their  tobies !  " 

The  unearthly  voices  scarce  had  ceased  their  yelling, 
When  Rupert  reach'd  his  old  baronial  dwelling. 

What  rejoicing  was  there !    How  the  vassals  did  stare ! 
The  old  housekeeper  put  a  clean  shirt  down  to  air, 

For  she  saw  by  her  lamp    That  her  master's  was  damp, 
And  she  fear'd  he'd  catch  cold,  and  lumbago  and  cramp  ; 

But,  scorning  what  she  did,    The  Knight  never  heeded 
Wet  jacket  or  trousers,  nor  thought  of  repining, 
Since  their  pockets  had  got  such  a  delicate  lining, 

But  oh  !  what  dismay    Fill'd  the  tribe  of  Ca  Sa, 
When  they  found  he'd  the  cash,  and  intended  to  pay ! 
Away  went  "  cognovits,"  "  bills,"  "  bonds,"  and  "  escheats," — 
Rupert  clear'd  off  all  scores,  and  took  proper  receipts. 

Now  no  more  he  sends  out    For  pots  of  brown  stout, 
Or  schnaps,  but  resolves  to  do  henceforth  without, 
Abjure  from  this  hour  all  excess  and  ebriety, 
Enroll'd  himself  one  of  a  Temp'rance  Society, 


146  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

All  riot  eschew,    Begin  life  anew, 
And  new-cushion  and  hassock  the  family  pew  ! 
Nay,  to  strengthen  him  more  in  his  new  mode  of  life, 
He  boldly  determines  to  take  him  a  wife. 

Now,  many  would  think  that  the  Knight,  from  a  nice  sense 
Of  honour,  should  put  Lurline's  name  in  the  licence, 
And  that,  for  a  man  of  his  breeding  and  quality, 

To  break  faith  and  troth,    Confirm'd  by  an  oath, 
Is  not  quite  consistent  with  rigid  morality ; 
But  whether  the  nymph  was  forgot,  or  he  thought  her 
From  her  essence  scarce  wife,  but  at  best  wife-and- water, 

And  declined  as  unsuited,    A  bride  so  diluted — 

Be  this  as  it  may,    He,  I'm  sorry  to  say 
(For  all  things  consider"d,  I  own  'twas  a  rum  thing), 
Made  proposals  in  form  to  Miss  Una  Von — something 
(Her  name  has  escaped  me),  sole  heiress,  and  niece 
To  a  highly  respectable  Justice  of  Peace. 

"  Thrice  happj^s  the  wooing    Thafs  not  long  a-doing 
So  much  time  is  saved  in  the  billing  and  cooing — 
The  ring  is  now  bought,  the  white  favours,  and  gloves, 
And  all  the  et  cetera  which  crown  people's  loves  ; 
A  magnificent  bride-cake  comes  home  from  the  baker, 
And  lastly  appears,  from  the  German  Long  Acre, 
That  shaft  which  the  sharpest  in  all  Cupid's  quiver  is, 
A  plum-colour'd  coach,  and  rich  Pompadour  liveries. 

Twas  a  comely  sight    To  behold  the  Knight, 
With  his  beautiful  bride,  dress'd  all  in  white, 
And  the  bridesmaids  fair  with  their  long  lace  veils, 
As  they  all  walk'd  up  to  the  altar  rails, 
While  nice  little  boys,  the  incense  dispensers, 
March'd  in  front  with  white  surplices,  bands,  and  gilt  censers 

With  a  gracious  air,  and  a  smiling  look, 

Mess  John  had  open'd  his  awful  book, 

And  had  read  so  far  as  to  ask  if  to  wed  he  meant  ? 

And  if  "  he  knew  any  just  cause  of  impediment  ? " 

When  from  base  to  turret  the  castle  shook  ! ! ! 

Then  came  a  sound  of  a  mighty  rain 

[Dashing  against  each  storied  pane, 


SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS.  147 

The  wind  blew  loud,    And  a  coal-black  cloud 
O'ershadow'd  the  church,  and  the  party,  and  crowd ; 
How  it  could  happen  they  could  not  divine, 
The  morning  had  been  so  remarkably  fine  ! 
Still  the  darkness  increased,  till  it  reach'd  such  a  pasa 

That  the  sextoness  hasten'd  to  turn  on  the  gas ; 
But  harder  it  pour'd,    And  the  thunder  roar'd, 

As  if  heaven  and  earth  were  coming  together  : 

None  ever  had  witness'd  such  terrible  weather. 

Now  louder  it  crash'd,    And  the  lightning  flash'd, 
Exciting  the  fears    Of  the  sweet  little  dears 

In  the  veils,  as  it  danced  on  the  brass  chandeliers ; 

The  parson  ran  off,  though  a  stout-hearted  Saxon, 

When  he  found  that  a  flash  had  set  fire  to  his  caxon. 

Though  all  the  rest  trembled,  as  might  be  expected, 
Sir  Rupert  was  perfectly  cool  and  collected, 

And  endeavour'd  to  cheer    His  bride,  in  her  ear 
Whisp'ring  tenderly,  "  Pray  don't  be  frighten'd,  my  dear ; 
Should  it  even  set  fire  to  the  castle,  and  burn  it  you're 
Amply  insured  both  for  buildings  and  furniture." 

But  now,  from  without,    A  trustworthy  scout 

Rush'd  hurriedly  in,    Wet  through  to  the  skin, 
Informing  his  master,  "  the  river  was  rising, 
And  flooding  the  grounds  in  a  way  quite  surprising." 

He'd  no  time  to  say  more,    For  already  the  roar 
Of  the  waters  was  heard  as  they  reach'd  the  church-door, 
While,  high  on  the  first  wave  that  roll'd  in,  was  seen, 
Biding  proudly,  the  form  of  the  angry  Lurline  ; 
And  all  might  observe,  by  her  glance  fierce  and  stormy, 
She  was  stung  by  the  spretce  injuria  formce. 

What  she  said  to  the  Knight,  what  she  said  to  the  bride, 
What  she  said  to  the  ladies  who  stood  by  her  side, 
What  she  said  to  the  nice  little  boys  in  white  clothes, 
Oh,  nobody  mentions — for  nobody  knows  ; 
For  the  roof  tumbled  in,  and  the  walls  tumbled  out, 
And  the  folks  tumbled  down,  all  confusion  and  rout, 

The  rain  kept  on  pouring,    The  flood  keep  on  roaring, 
The  billows  and  water-nymphs  roll'd  more  and  more  in  ; 

Ere  the  close  of  the  day    All  was  clean  wash'd  away— 


148  THE  SNGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

One  only  survived  who  could  hand  down  the  news, 
A  little  old  woman  that  open'd  the  pews ; 

She  was  borne  off,  but  stuck, 

By  the  greatest  good  luck, 

In  an  oak  tree,  and  there  she  hung,  crying  and  screaming, 
And  saw  all  the  rest  swallow'd  up  the  wild  stream  in ; 

In  vain,  all  the  week,    Did  the  fishermen  seek 
For  the  bodies,  and  poke  in  each  cranny  and  creek  ; 

In  vain  was  their  search    After  aught  in  the  church, 
They  caught  nothing  but  weeds,  and  perhaps  a  few  perch  ; 

The  Humane  Society    Tried  a  variety 

Of  methods,  and  brought  down,  to  drag  for  the  wreck,  tackle*1, 
But  they  only  fish'd  up  the  clerk's  tortoiseshell  spectacles. 

MORAL. 

This  tale  has  a  moral.     Ye  youths,  oh,  beware 

Of  liquor,  and  how  you  run  after  the  fair ! 

Shun  playing  at  shorts— avoid  quarrels  and  jars — 

And  don't  take  to  smoking  those  nasty  cigars ! 

— Let  no  run  of  bad  luck,  or  despair  for  some  Jewess-eyed 

Damsel,  induce  you  to  contemplate  suicide  ! 

Don't  sit  up  much  later  than  ten  or  eleven  ! — 

Be  up  in  the  morning  by  half  after  seven  ! 

Keep  from  flirting — nor  risk,  warn'd  by  Rupert's  miscarriage, 

An  action  for  breach  of  a  promise  of  marriage  ; — 

Don't  fancy  odd  fishes  !    Don't  prig  silver  dishes ! 
And  to  sum  up  the  whole,  in  the  shortest  phrase  I  know, 
BEWARE  OP  THE  RHINE,  AND  TAKE  CARE  OP  THE  RHINO  ! 


ilertfeant  of 

I  BELIEVE  there  are  few 

But  have  heard  of  a  Jew, 

Named  Shylock,  of  Venice,  as  arrant  a  "  screw 

In  money  transactions  as  ever  you  knew ; 

An  exorbitant  miser,  who  never  yet  lent 

A  ducat  at  less  than  three  hundred  per  cent, 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  149 

Insomuch  that  the  veriest  spendthrift  in  Venice, 

Who'd  take  no  more  care  of  his  pounds  than  his  pennies, 

When  press'd  for  a  loan,  at  the  very  first  sight 

Of  his  terms,  would  back  out,  and  take  refuge  in  Might. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  pause  and  inquire 

If  he  might  not,  in  managing  thus  to  retire, 

Jump  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire  ; 

Suffice  it,  that  folks  would  have  nothing  to  do, 

Who  could  possibly  help  it,  with  Shylock  the  Jew. 

But,  however  discreetly  one  cuts  and  contrives, 
We've  been  most  of  us  taught  in  the  course  of  our  lives, 
That  "  Needs  must  when  the  Elderly  Gentleman  drives  ! ' 

In  proof  of  this  rule,    A  thoughtless  young  fool, 
Bassanio,  a  Lord  of  the  Tomnoddy  school, 
Who,  by  showing  at  Operas,  Balls,  Plays,  and  Court, 
A  "  swelling  "  (Payne  Collier  would  read  "  swilling  ")  "  port," 
And  inviting  his  friends  to  dine,  breakfast,  and  sup, 
Had  shrunk  his  "  weak  means,"  and  was  "  stump'd  "  and  "  hard 
up," 

Took  occasion  to  send    To  his  very  good  friend 
Antonio,  a  merchant  whose  wealth  had  no  end, 
And  who'd  often  before  had  the  kindness  to  lend 
Him  large  sums,  on  his  note,  which  he'd  managed  to  spend. 

"  Antonio,"  said  he,    "  Now  listen  to  me ; 
I've  just  hit  on  a  scheme  which,  I  think  you'll  agree, 
All  matters  consider'd,  is  no  bad  design, 
And  which,  if  it  succeeds,  will  suit  your  book  and  mine. 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  know  all  the  money  I've  got, 
Time  and  often,  from  you,  has  been  long  gone  to  pot, 
And  in  making  those  loans  you  have  made  a  bad  shot ; 
Now  do  as  the  boys  do,  when  shooting  at  sparrows 
And  torn-tits,  they  chance  to  lose  one  of  their  arrows, 
—Shoot  another  the  same  way — I'll  watch  well  its  track, 
And,  turtle  to  tripe,  I'll  bring  both  of  them  back  ! — 

So  list  to  my  plan,    And  do  what  you  can 
To  attend  to  and  second  it,  that's  a  good  man  ! 

M  There's  a  Lady,  young,  handsome,  beyond  all  compare,  at 
A  place  they  call  Belmont,  whom,  when  I  was  there,  at 


150  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  suppers  and  parties  my  friend  Lord  Mountferrat 
Was  giving  last  season,  we  all  used  to  stare  at. 
Then,  as  to  her  wealth,  her  solicitor  told  mine, 
Besides  vast  estates,  a  pearl-fishery,  and  gold  mine, 
Her  iron  strong  box    Seems  bursting  its  locks, 
It's  stuffd  so  with  shares  in  "  Grand  Junctions  "  and  H  Docks," 
Not  to  speak  of  the  money  she's  got  in  the  Stocks, 

French,  Dutch,  and  Brazilian,    Columbian  and  Chilian, 
In  English  Exchequer-bills  full  half  a  million, 
Not '  kites,'  manufactured  to  cheat  and  inveigle, 
But  the  right  sort  of  '  flimsy,'  all  sign'd  by  Monteagle. 
Then  I  know  not  how  much  in  Canal-shares  and  Eailwaysy 
And  more  speculations  I  need  not  detail,  ways 
Of  vesting  which,  if  not  so  safe  as  some  think  'em, 
Contribute  a  deal  to  improving  one's  income  ; 

In  short,  she's  a  Mint !    — Now  I  say,  deuce  is  in't 
If,  with  all  my  experience,  I  can't  take  a  hint, 
And  her  '  eye's  speechless  messages,'  plainer  than  print 
At  the  time  that  I  told  you  of,  know  from  a  squint. 
In  short,  my  dear  Tony,    My  trusty  old  crony, 
Do  stump  up  three  thousand  once  more  as  a  loan — I 
Am  sure  of  my  game — though,  of  course,  there  are  brutes, 
Of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  preferring  their  suits 
To  her,  you  may  call  the  Italian  Miss  Coutts. 
Yet  Portia — she's  named  from  that  daughter  of  Cato's — 
Is  not  to  be  snapp'd  up  like  little  potatoes, 

And  I  have  not  a  doubt    I  shall  rout  every  lout 
Ere  you'll  whisper  Jack  Robinson — cut  them  all  out- 
Surmount  every  barrier,    Carry  her,  marry  her ! 
— Then  hey !  my  old  Tony,  when  once  fairly  noosed, 
For  her  three-and-a-half  per  Cents — New  and  Reduced  ! 


With  a  wink  of  his  eye    His  friend  made  reply 
In  his  jocular  manner,  sly,  caustic,  and  dry. 
"  Still  the  same  boy,  Bassanio — never  say  '  die  ! ' 
—Well— I  hardly  know  how  I  shaU  do't,  but  I'll  try,— 
Don't  suppose  my  affairs  are  at  all  in  a  hash, 
But  the  fact  is,  at  present  I'm  quite  out  of  cash ; 
The  bulk  of  my  property,  merged  in  rich  cargoes,  is 
Tossing  about,  as  you  know,  in  my  Argosies, 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  151 

Tending,  of  course,  my  resources  to  cripple,— I 
've  one  bound  to  England, — another  to  Tripoli — 
Cyprus — Masulipatam — and  Bombay  ; — 

A  sixth,  by  the  way,    I  consign'd  t'other  day 
To  Sir  Gregor  M'Gregor,  Cacique  of  Poyais, 
A  country  where  silver's  as  common  as  clay. 

Meantime,  till  they  tack,    And  come,  some  of  them,  back 
What  with  custom-house  duties,  and  bills  falling  due, 
My  account  with  Jones  Loyd  and  Co.  looks  rather  blue  ; 
While,  as  for  the  '  ready,'  I'm  like  a  Church-mouse, — 
I  really  don't  think  there's  five  pounds  in  the  house. 

But,  no  matter  for  that,    Let  me  just  get  my  hat, 
And  my  new  silk  umbrella  that  stands  on  the  mat, 
And  we'll  go  forth  at  once  to  the  market — we  two, — 
And  try  what  my  credit  in  Venice  can  do ; 
I  stand  well  on  'Change,  and,  when  all's  said  and  done,  I 
Don't  doubt  I  shall  get  it  for  love  or  for  money." 

They  were  going  to  go,    When,  lo  !  down  below, 
In  the  street,  they  heard  somebody  crying,  "  Old  Clo'  ! " 
— "  By  the  Pope,  there's  the  man  for  our  purpose ! — I  knew 
We  should  not  have  to  search  long.    Solanio,  run  you, 
— Salarino, — quick  ! — haste !  ere  he  get  out  of  view, 
And  call  in  that  scoundrel,  old  Shylock  the  Jew ! " 

With  a  pack,    Like  a  sack 

Of  old  clothes  at  his  back, 

And  three  hats  on  his  head,  Shylock  came  in  a  crack, 
Saying,  "  Rest  you  fair,  Signior  Antonio ! — vat,  pray, 
Might  your  vorship  be  pleashed  for  to  vant  in  ma  vay  1 ' 

— "  Why,  Shylock,  although.    As  you  very  well  know, 
I  am  what  they  call '  warm,' — pay  my  way  as  I  go, 
And,  as  to  myself,  neither  borrow  nor  lend, 
I  can  break  through  a  rule  to  oblige  an  old  friend  ; 
And  that's  the  case  now — Lord  Bassanio  would  raise 
Some  three  thousand  ducats — well, — knowing  your  ways, 
And  that  nought's  to  be  got  from  you,  say  what  one  will, 
Unless  you've  a  couple  of  names  to  the  bill, 

Why,  for  once,  111  put  mine  to  it, 

Yea,  seal  and  sign  to  it — 


1M  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Now,  then,  old  Sinner,  let's  hear  what  you'll  say 
As  to  '  doing '  a  bill  at  three  months  from  to-day  ? 
Three  thousand  gold  ducats,  mind — all  in  good  bags 
Of  hard  money — no  sealing-wax,  slippers,  or  rags  ? " 

" — Veil,  ma  tear,"  says  the  Jew,    "  I'll  see  vat  I  can  do ! 
But  Mishter  Antonio,  hark  you,  tish  funny 
You  say  to  me,  '  Shylock,  ma  tear,  ve'd  have  money  ? ' 

Ven  you  very  veil  knows,    How  you  shpit  on  my  clothes, 
And  use  naughty  vords — call  me  Dog — and  avouch 
Dat  I  put  too  much  int'resht  py  half  in  ma  pouch, 
And  vhile  I,  like  de  resht  of  my  tribe,  shrug  and  crouch, 
You  find  fault  mit  ma  pargains,  and  say  I'm  a  Smouch. 

— Veil ! — no  matters,  ma  tear, —    Von  vord  in  your  ear 
I'd  be  friends  mit  you  bote — and  to  make  dat  appear, 
Vy,  111  find  you  de  monies  as  soon  as  you  vill, 
Only  von  littel  joke  musht  be  put  in  de  pill  ;— 

Ma  tear,  you  musht  say,    If  on  such  and  such  day 
Such  sum,  or  such  sums,  you  shall  fail  to  repay, 
I  shall  cut  vhere  I  like,  as  de  pargain  is  proke, 
A  fair  pound  of  your  flesh — chest  by  vay  of  a  joke." 

So  novel  a  clause    Caused  Bassanio  to  pause ; 
But  Antonio,  like  most  of  those  sage  "  Johnny  Raws  *' 

Who  care  not  three  straws    About  Lawyers  or  Laws 
And  think  cheaply  of  "Old  Father  Antic,"  because 
They  have  never  experienced  a  gripe  from  his  claws, 
"  Pooh  pooh'd  "  the  whole  thing. — "  Let  the  Smouch  have  his 
way, 

Why,  what  care  I,  pray,    For  his  penalty  ? — Nay, 
It's  a  forfeit  he'd  never  expect  me  to  pay : 

And,  come  what  come  may,    I  hardly  need  say 
My  ships  will  be  back  a  full  month  ere  the  day." 
So,  anxious  to  see  his  friend  off  on  his  journey, 
And  thinking  the  whole  but  a  paltry  concern,  ho 

Affix'd  with  all  speed    His  name  to  a  deed, 
Duly  stamp'd  and  drawn  up  by  a  sharp  Jew  attorney. 
Thus  again  furnish'd  forth,  Lord  Bassanio,  instead 
Of  squandering  the  cash,  after  giving  one  spread, 
With  fiddling  and  masques,  at  the  Saracen's  Head, 

In  the  morning  "  made  play,"    And  without  more  delay, 
Started  off  in  the  steamboat  for  Belmont  next  day. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF   VENICE.  163 

But  scarcely  had  he    From  the  harbour  got  free. 
And  left  the  Lagunes  for  the  broad  open  sea, 
Ere  the  'Change  and  Rialto  both  rung  with  the  news 
That  he'd  carried  off  more  than  mere  cash  from  the  Jew's. 

Though  Shylock  was  old,    And,  if  rolling  in  gold, 
Was  as  ugly  a  dog  as  you'd  wish  to  behold, 
For  few  in  his  tribe  'mongst  their  Levis  and  Moseses 
Sported  so  Jewish  an  eye,  beard,  and  nose  as  his, 
Still,  whate'er  the  opinions  of  Horace  and  some  be, 
Your  aquilce  generate  sometimes  Columbce, 
Jike  Jepthaji,  as  Hamlet  says,  he'd  "  one  fair  daughter, 
And  every  gallant,  who  caught  sight  of  her,  thought  her 
A  jewel — a  gem  of  the  very  first  water  ; 

A  great  many  sought  her,    Till  one  at  last  caught  her, 
And,  upsetting  all  that  the  Rabbis  had  taught  her, 
To  feelings  so  truly  reciprocal  brought  her, 

That  the  very  same  night    Bassanio  thought  right 
To  give  all  his  old  friends  that  farewell  "  invite," 
And  while  Shylock  was  gone  there  to  feed  out  of  spite, 
On  "  wings  made  by  a  tailor  "  the  damsel  took  flight. 

By  these  "  wings  "  I'd  express    A  grey  duffle  dress, 
With  brass  badge  aud  muffin  cap,  made,  as  by  rule, 
For  an  upper-class  boy  in  the  National  School 
Jessy  ransack'd  the  house,  popp'd  her  breeks  on,  and  when  so 
Disguised,  bolted  off  with  her  beau— one  Lorenzo, 
An  "  Unthrif t,"  who  lost  not  a  moment  in  whisking 

Her  into  a  boat,    And  was  fairly  afloat, 
Ere  her  Pa  had  got  rid  of  the  smell  of  the  griskin. 

Next  day,  while  old  Shylock  was  making  a  racket, 
And  threatening  how  well  he'd  dust  every  man's  jacket 
Who'd  help'd  her  in  getting  aboard  of  the  packet, 
Bassanio  at  Belmont  was  capering  and  prancing, 
And  bowing,  and  scraping,  and  singing,  and  dancing, 
Making  eyes  at  Miss  Portia,  and  doing  his  best 
To  perform  the  polite,  and  to  cut  out  the  rest ; 
And,  if  left  to  herself,  he  no  doubt  had  succeeded, 
For  none  of  them  waltz'd  so  genteelly  as  he  did  ; 

But  an  obstacle  lay,    Of  some  weight,  in  his  way, 
The  defunct  Mr.  P.,  who  was  now  turn'd  to  clay, 


154  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Had  been  an  odd  man,  and,  though  all  for  the  best  he  meant. 
Left  but  a  queer  sort  of  "  Last  will  and  testament," — 

Bequeathing  her  hand,    With  her  houses  and  land, 
<fec.,  from  motives  one  don't  understand, 
As  she  rev'renced  his  memory,  and  valued  his  blessing, 
To  him  who  should  turn  out  the  best  hand  at  guessing ! 

Like  a  good  girl  she  did    Just  what  she  was  bid, 
In  one  of  three  caskets  her  picture  she  hid, 
And  clapp'd  a  conundrum  a-top  of  each  lid. 

A  couple  of  Princes,  a  black  and  a  white  one, 

Tried  first,  but  they  both  fail'd  in  choosing  the  right  one. 

Another  from  Naples,  who  shoe'd  his  own  horses ; 

A  French  Lord,  whose  graces  might  vie  with  Count  D'Or- 
say's; — 

A  young  English  Baron ;— a  Scotch  peer  his  neighbour : — 

A  dull  drunken  Saxon,  all  moustache  and  sabre  ; 

All  follow'd,  and  all  had  their  pains  for  their  labour. 

Bassanio  came  last — happy  man  be  his  dole ! 

Put  his  conjuring  cap  on, — consider'd  the  whole, — 

The  gold  put  aside  as    Mere  "  hard  food  for  Midas," 
The  silver  bade  trudge    As  a  pale  "  common  drudge ; " 

Then  choosing  the  little  lead  box  in  the  middle, 

Came  plump  on  the  picture,  and  found  out  the  riddle 

Now,  you're  not  such  a  goose  as  to  think,  I  dare  say, 
Gentle  Reader,  that  all  this  was  done  in  a  day. 

Any  more  than  the  dome    Of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 
Was  built  in  the  same  space  of  time ;  and,  in  fact, 

Whilst  Bassanio  was  doing    His  billing  and  cooing, 
Three  months  had  gone  by  ere  he  reach'd  the  fifth  act ; 
Meanwhile  that  unfortunate  bill  became  due, 
Which  his  Lordship  had  almost  forgot,  to  the  Jew, 

And  Antonio  grew    In  a  deuce  of  a  stew, 
For  he  could  not  cash  up,  spite  of  all  he  could  do ; 
(The  bitter  old  Israelite  would  not  renew ; ) 
What  with  contrary  winds,  storms,  and  wrecks,  and  embar- 
goes, his 

Funds  were  all  stopp'd,  or  gone  down  in  his  argosies 
None  of  the  set  having  come  into  port, 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  155 

And  Shylock's  attorney  was  moving  the  Court 
For  the  forfeit  supposed  to  be  set  down  in  sport 

The  serious  news    Of  this  step  of  the  Jew's, 
And  his  fixed  resolution  all  terms  to  refuse, 
Gave  the  newly-made  Bridegroom  a  fit  of  "  the  Blues," 
Especially  too,  as  it  came  from  the  pen 
Of  his  poor  friend  himself  on  the  wedding-day, — then, 
When  the  Parson  had  scarce  shut  his  book  up,  and  when 
The  Clerk  was  yet  uttering  the  final  Amen. 

"  Dear  friend,"  it  continued,  "  all's  up  with  me — I 

Have  nothing  on  earth  now  to  do  but  to  die  ! 

And,  as  death  clears  all  scores,  you're  no  longer  my  debtor ; 

I  should  take  it  as  kind    Could  you  come — never  mind — 
If  your  love  don't  persuade  you,  why, — don't  let  this  letter; " 

I  hardly  need  say  this  was  scarcely  read  o'er 

Ere  a  post-chaise  and  four 

Was  brought  round  to  the  door, 
And  Bassanio,  though,  doubtless,  he  thought  it  a  bore, 
Gave  his  lady  one  kiss,  and  then  started  at  score. 

But  scarce  in  his  flight    Had  he  got  out  of  sight 
Ere  Portia,  addressing  a  groom,  said,  "  My  lad,  you  a 
Journey  must  take  on  the  instant  to  Padua ;, 
Find  out  there  Bellario,  a  Doctor  of  Laws, 
Who,  like  Follett,  is  never  left  out  of  a  cause 

And  give  him  this  note,    Which  I've  hastily  wrote, 
Take  the  papers  he'll  give  you — then  push  for  the  ferry 
Below,  where  I'll  meet  you,  you'll  do't  in  a  wherry, 
If  you  can't  find  a  boat  on  the  Brenta  with  sails  to  it 
— Stay,  bring  his  gown  too,  and  wig  with  three  tails  to  it." 

Giovanni  (that's  Jack)    Brought  out  his  hack, 
Made  a  bow  to  his  mistress,  then  jump'd  on  its  back, 
Put  his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  was  off  in  a  crack. 
The  Signora  soon  followM,  herself,  taking,  as  her 
Own  escort,  Nerissa,  her  maid,  and  Balthasar. 


"  The  Court  is  prepared,  the  Lawyers  are  met, 
The  Judges  all  ranged,  a  terrible  show ! " 

As  Captain  Macheath  says, — and  when  one's  in  debt, 
The  sight's  as  unpleasant  a  one  as  I  know, 


156  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Yet  still  not  so  bad  after  all,  I  suppose, 
As  if,  when  one  cannot  discharge  what  one  owes, 
They  should  bid  people  cut  off  one's  toes  or  one's  nose  : 
Yet  here,  a  worse  fate,    Stands  Antonio,  of  late 
A  merchant,  might  vie  e'en  with  Princes  in  state, 
With  his  waistcoat  unbutton'd,  prepar'd  for  the  knife, 
Which,  in  taking  a  pound  of  flesh,  must  take  his  life ; 
— On  the  other  side  Shylock,  his  bag  on  the  floor, 
And  three  shocking  bad  hats  on  his  head  as  before, 

Imperturbable  stands,    As  he  waits  their  commands 
With  his  scales  and  his  great  snicker-snee  in  his  hands  : 
— Between  them,  equipt  in  a  wig,  gown  and  bands, 
With  a  very  smooth  face,  a  young  dandified  Lawyer, 
Whose  air,  ne'ertheless,  speaks  him  quite  a  top-sawyer, 

Though  his  hopes  are  but  feeble,    Does  his  possible 
To  make  the  hard  Hebrew  to  mercy  incline, 
And  in  lieu  of  his  three  thousand  ducats  take  nine, 
Which  Bassanio,  for  reasons  we  well  may  divine, 
Shows  in  so  many  bags  all  drawn  up  in  a  line. 
But  vain  are  all  efforts  to  soften  him — still 

He  points  to  the  bond    He  so  often  has  conn'd, 
And  says  in  plain  terms  he'll  be  shot  if  he  will. 
So  the  dandified  Lawyer,  with  talking  grown  hoarse, 
Says,  "I  can  say  no  more — let  the  law  take  its  course.'"' 

Just  fancy  the  gleam  of  the  eye  of  the  Jew, 

As  he  sharpen'd  his  knife  on  the  sole  of  his  shoe 

From  the  toe  to  the  heel,    And  grasping  the  steel, 
With  a  business-like  air  was  beginning  to  feel 
Whereabouts  he  should  cut,  as  a  butcher  would  veal, 
When  the  dandified  Judge  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel 

"  Stay,  Shylock,"  says  he,    "  Here's  one  thing — you  see 
This  bond  of  yours  gives  you  here  no  jot  of  blood  ! 
— The  words  are  'A  pound  of  flesh,' — that's  clear  as  mud — 
Slice  away,  then,  old  fellow — but  mind  ! — if  you  spill 
One  drop  of  his  claret  that's  not  in  your  bill, 
I'll  hang  you,  like  Haman  ! — by  Jingo  I  will ! 

When  apprised  of  this  flaw,    You  never  yet  saw 
Such  an  awfully  mark'd  elongation  of  jaw 
As  in  Shylook,  who  cried,  "  Pleah  ma  heart !  ish  dat  law  ! " — 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  157 

Off  went  his  three  hats,    And  he  look'd  as  the  cats 
Do,  whenever  a  mouse  has  escaped  from  their  claw. 
" — Ish't  the  law ; " — why  the  thing  won't  admit  of  a  query — 

"  No  doubt  of  the  fact,    Only  look  at  the  act ; 
Acto  guinto,  cap :  tertio,  Dogi  Falieri — 
Nay,  if,  rather  than  cut,  you'd  relinquish  the  debt, 
The  Law,  Master  Shy,  has  a  hold  on  you  yet. 
See  Foscari's  '  Statutes  at  large ' — '  If  a  Stranger 
A  Citizen's  life  shall,  with  malice  endanger, 
The  whole  of  his  property,  little  or  great, 
Shall  go,  on  conviction,  one  half  to  the  State, 
And  one  to  the  person  pursued  by  his  hate ; 

And  not  to  create    Any  further  debate 
The  Doge,  if  he  pleases,  may  cut  off  his  pate.' 
So  down  on  your  marrowbones,  Jew,  and  ask  mercy ! 
Defendant  and  plaintiff  are  now  wisy  wersy." 

What  need  to  declare    How  pleased  they  all  were 
At  so  joyful  an  end  to  so  sad  an  affair  ? 
Or  Bassanio's  delight  at  the  turn  things  had  taken, 
His  friend  having  saved,  to  the  letter,  his  bacon  1 — 
How  Shylock  got  shaved,  and  turn'd  Christian,  though  late, 
To  save  a  life-int'rest  in  half  his  estate  ? 
How  the  dandified  Lawyer,  who'd  managed  the  thing, 
Would  not  take  any  fee  for  his  pains  but  a  ring 
Which  Mrs.  Bassanio  had  given  to  her  spouse, 
With  injunctions  to  keep  it  on  leaving  the  house  ? — 

How  when  he,  and  the  spark,    Who  appear'd  as  his  clerk 
Had  thrown  off  their  wigs,  and  their  gowns,  and  their  jettj 

coats, 

There  stood  Nerissa  and  Portia  in  petticoats] — 
How  they  pouted,  and  flouted,  and  acted  the  cruel, 
Because  Lord  Bassanio  had  not  kept  his  jewel  ? — 

How  they  scolded  and  broke  out, 

Till,  having  their  joke  out, 
They  kiss'd,  and  were  friends,  and,  all  blessing  and  blessed 

Drove  home  by  the  light    Of  a  moonshiny  night, 
Like  the  one  in  which  Troilus,  the  brave  Trojan  knight, 
Sat  astride  on  a  wall,  and  sigh'd  after  his  Cressid  ?-  - 

All  this,  if  'twere  meet    I'd  go  on  to  repeat, 
But  a  story  spun  out  so's  by  no  means  a  treat, 


158  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

So,  I'll  merely  relate  what,  in  spite  of  the  pains 
I  have  taken  to  rummage  among  his  remains, 
No  edition  of  Shakspeare,  I've  met  with,  contains  ; 
But,  if  the  account  which  I've  heard  be  the  true  one, 
We  shall  have  it,  no  doubt,  before  long,  in  a  new  one. 

In  an  MS.,  then,  sold    For  its  full  weight  in  gold, 
And  knock'd  down  to  my  friend,  Lord  Tomnoddy,  I'm  told 
It's  recorded  that  Jessy,  coquettish  and  vain, 
Grave  her  husband,  Lorenzo,  a  good  deal  of  pain ; 
Being  mildly  rebuked,  she  levanted  again, 
Ban  away  with  a  Scotchman,  and,  crossing  the  main, 
Became  known  by  the  name  of  the  "  Flower  of  Dumblane." 
That  Antonio,  whose  piety  caused,  as  we've  seen, 
Him  to  spit  upon  every  old  Jew's  gaberdine, 

And  whose  goodness  to  paint    All  colours  were  faint, 
Acquired  the  well-merited  prefix  of  "  Saint," 
And  the  Doge,  his  admirer,  of  honour  the  fount, 
Having  given  him  a  patent,  and  made  him  a  Count, 
He  went  over  to  England,  got  nat'ralised  there, 
And  espoused  a  rich  heiress  in  Hanover  Square. 

That  Shylock  came  with  him,  no  longer  a  Jew, 

But  converted,  I  think  may  be  possibly  true, 

But  that  Walpole,  as  these  self-same  papers  aver, 

By  changing  the  y  in  his  name  into  er, 

Should  allow  him  a  fictitious  surname  to  dish  up, 

And  in  Seventeen-twenty -eight  make  him  a  Bishop, 

I  cannot  believe — but  shall  still  think  them  two  men 

Till  some  Sage  proves  the  fact  "  with  his  usual  acumen? 

MORAL. 

From  this  tale  of  the  Bard    It's  uncommonly  hard 
If  an  editor  can't  draw  a  moral — Tis  clear, 
Then, — In  ev'ry  young  wife-seeking  Bachelor's  ear 
A  maxim,  'bove  all  other  stories,  this  one  drums, 
"PITCH  GREEK  TO   OLD   HAKBY,   AND   STICK   TO   COXUN- 
DKUMS!  !" 

To  new-married  Ladies,  this  lesson  it  teaches, 

You're  "  nc  \hat  far  wrong  "  in  assuming  the  bieeches ! 


THE  AUTO-DA-FA  159 

Monied  men  upon  'Change  and  rich  merchants  it  schools 

To  look  well  to  assets — nor  play  with  edge  tools  ! 

Last  of  all,  this  remarkable  History  shows  men, 

What  caution  they  need  when  they  deal  with  old-clothesmen  1 

So  bid  John  and  Mary    To  mind  and  be  wary, 
And  never  let  one  of  them  come  down  the  are'  1 


A     LEGEND     OF     SPAIN. 

WITH  a  moody  air,  from  morn  till  noon, 
King  Ferdinand  paces  the  royal  saloon  ; 
From  morn  till  eve    He  does  nothing  but  grieve ; 
Sighings  and  sobbings  his  midriff  heave, 
And  he  wipes  his  eyes  with  his  ermined  sleeve, 
And  he  presses  his  feverish  hand  to  his  brow, 
And  he  frowns  and  he  looks  I  can't  tell  you  how, 
And  the  Spanish  Grandees,    In  their  degrees. 
Are  whispering  about  in  twos  and  in  threes, 
And  there  is  not  a  man  of  them  seems  at  his  ease, 
But  they  gaze  on  the  monarch,  as  watching  what  he  does 
With  their  very  long  whiskers,  and  longer  Toledos. 
Don  Gaspar,  Don  Gusman,  Don  Juan,  Don  Diego, 
Don  Gomez,  Don  Pedro,  Don  Bias,  Don  Rodrigo, 
Don  Jerome,  Don  Giacomo  join  Don  Alphonso 

In  making  inquiries    Of  grave  Don  Ramirez, 
The  Chamberlain,  what  it  is  makes  him  take  on  so ; 
A  Monarch  so  great  that  the  soundest  opinions 
Maintain  the  sun  can't  set  throughout  his  dominions. 

But  grave  Don  Ramirez    In  guessing  no  nigher  is 
Than  the  other  grave  Dons  who  propound  these  inquiries  ; 
When,  pausing  at  length,  as  beginning  to  tire,  his 
Majesty  beckons,  with  stately  civility, 

To  Sefior  Don  Lewis    Cond6  d'Aranjuez, 
Who  in  birth,  wealth,  and  consequence  second  to  few  is, 
And  Senor  Don  Manuel,  Count  de  Pacheco, 
A  lineal  descendant  from  King  Pharaoh  Neco, 


160  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGEXDS. 

Both  Knights  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  highborn  Hidalgos, 
With  whom  e'en  the  King  himself  quite  as  a  "  pal "  goes. 

"  Don  Lewis,"  says  he,  "  Just  listen  to  me  ; 
And  you,  Count  Pacheco, — I  think  that  we  three 
On  matters  of  state,  for  the  most  part  agree. — 

Now  you  both  of  you  know    That  some  six  years  ago, 
Being  then,  for  a  King,  no  indifferent  Beau, 
At  the  altar  I  took,  like  my  forbears  of  old, 

The  Peninsula's  paragon,    Fair  Blanche  of  Aragon, 
For  better,  for  worse,  and  to  have  and  to  hold — 

And  you're  fully  aware,    When  the  matter  took  air, 
How  they  shouted,  and  fired  the  great  guns  in  the  Square, 
Cried  '  Viva  ! '  and  rung  all  the  bells  in  the  steeple, 

And  all  that  sort  of  thing    The  mob  do  when  a  King 
Brings  a  Queen-Consort  home  for  the  good  of  his  people. 

"  Well ! — six  years  and  a  day  have  flitted  away 
Since  that  blessed  event,  yet  I'm  sorry  to  say — 
In  fact  it's  the  principal  cause  of  my  pain — 
I  don't  see  any  signs  of  an  Infant  of  Spain  ! — 

Now  I  wan't  to  ask  you,    Cavaliers  true, 
And  Counsellors  sage — what  the  deuce  shall  I  do  1 — 
The  State — don't  you  see  1 — hey  ? — an  heir  to  the  throne — 
Every  monarch,  you  know,  should  have  one  of  his  own- 
Disputed  succession — hey  1 — terrible  Go  ! — 
Hum — hey  1 — Old  fellows — you  see  . — don't  you  know  ? " 

Now  Reader,  dear,    If  you've  ever  been  near 
Enough  to  a  Court  to  encounter  a  Peer 
When  his  principal  tenant's  gone  off  in  arrear, 
And  his  brewer  has  sent  in  a  long  bill  for  beer, 
And  his  butcher  and  baker,  with  faces  austere, 

Ask  him  to  clear    Off,  for  furnish'd  good  cheer, 
Bills,  they  say,  "  have  been  standing  for  more  than  a  year, " 
And  the  tailor  and  shoemaker  also  appear 

With  their  "  little  account "    Of  "  trifling  amount," 
For  Wellingtons,  waistcoats,  pea-jackets,  and — gear 
Which  to  name  in  society's  thought  rather  queer, — 
While  Drummond's  chief  clerk,  with  his  pen  in  his  ear, 
And  a  kind  of  a  sneer,  says,  "  We've  no  effects  here  ! " 

— Or  if  ever  you've  seen  An  Alderman  keen 
After  turtle,  peep  into  a  silver  tureen, 


THE  AUTO-DA-FE. 

In  search  of  the  fat  call'd  par  excellence  "  green  " 

When  there's  none  of  the  meat  left — not  even  the  lean  ! — 

— Or  if  ever  you've  witness'd  the  face  of  a  sailor 

Return'd  from  a  voyage,  and  escaped  from  a  gale,  or 

Poetice  "  Boreas,"  that  "  blustering  railer," 

To  find  that  his  wife,  when  he  hastens  to  "  hail "  her, 

Has  just  ran  away  with  his  cash — and  a  tailor — 

If  one  of  these  cases  you've  ever  survey'd, 

You'll,  without  my  aid,    To  yourself  have  portray'd 
The  beautiful  mystification  display'd, 
And  the  puzzled  expression  of  manner  and  air 
Exhibited  now  by  the  dignified  pair, 
When  thus  unexpectedly  ask'd  to  declare 
Their  opinions  as  Councillors,  several  and  joint, 
On  so  delicate,  grave,  and  important  a  point. 

Senor  Don  Lewis    Conde"  d'Aranjuez 
At  length  forced  a  smile  'twixt  the  prim  and  the  grim. 
And  look'd  at  Pacheco — Pacheco  at  him — 
Then,  making  a  rev'rence,  and  dropping  his  eyes, 
Cough'd,  hemm'd,  and  deliver'd  himself  in  this  wise  : 


"  My  Liege  !— unaccustom'd  as  I  am  to  speaking 
In  public — an  art  I'm  remarkably  weak  in — 
I  feel  I  should  be — quite  unworthy  the  name 
Of  a  man  and  a  Spaniard — and  highly  to  blame, 
Were  there  not  in  my  breast    What — can't  be  exprest, — 
And  can  therefore, — your  Majesty, — only  be  guess'd — 
— What  I  mean  to  say  is — since  your  Majesty  deigns 
To  ask  my  advice  on  your  welfare — and  Spain's — 
And  on  that  of  your  majesty's  Bride — that  is,  Wife — 
It's  the — as  I  may  say — proudest  day  of  my  life ! 
But  as  to  the  point — on  a  subject  so  nice 
It's  a  delicate  matter  to  give  one's  advice, 

Especially,  too,    When  one  don't  clearly  view 
The  best  mode  of  proceeding, — or  know  what  to  do  ; 
My  decided  opinion,  however,  is  this, 
And  I  fearlessly  say  that  you  can't  do  amiss, 

If,  with  all  that  fine  tact    Both  to  think  and  to  act, 
In  which  all  know  your  Majesty  so  much  excels — 
You  are  graciously  pleased  to — ask  somebody  else  1 " 

F 


161 


162  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Here  the  noble  Grandee    Made  that  sort  of  congee, 
Which,  as  Hill  used  to  say,  "  I  once  happen' d  to  see  " 
The  great  Indian  conjurer,  Ramo  Samee, 
Make,  while  swallowing  what  all  thought  a  regular  choker, 
Viz.  a  small  sword  as  long  and  as  stiff  as  a  poker. 

Then  the  Count  de  Pacheco, 

Whose  turn  'twas  to  speak,  o- 
mitting  all  preface,  exclaimed  with  devotion, 
"  Sire,  I  beg  leave  to  second  Don  Lewis's  motion  ! " 

Now  a  Monarch  of  Spain    Of  course  could  not  deign 
To  expostulate,  argue,  or,  much  less  complain 
Of  an  answer  thus  giv'n,  or  to  ask  them  again  ; 
So  he  merely  observed,  with  an  air  of  disdain, 
"  Well,  gentlemen, — since  you  both  shrink  from  the  task 
Of  advising  your  sovereign — pray  whom  shall  I  ask  1 " 

Each  felt  the  rub    And  in  Spain  not  a  Sub, 
Much  less  an  Hidalgo,  can  stomach  a  snub, 

So  the  noses  of  these    Castilian  Grandees 
Rise  at  once  in  an  angle  of  several  degrees, 
Till  the  under  lip's  almost  becoming  the  upper, 
Each  perceptibly  grows,  too,  more  stiff  in  the  crupper ; 

Their  right  hands  rest    On  the  left  side  the  breast, 
While  the  hilts  of  their  swords,  by  their  left  hands  deprest, 
Make  the  ends  of  their  scabbards  to  cock  up  behind, 
Till  they're  quite  horizontal  instead  of  inclined, 
And  Don  Lewis,  with  scarce  an  attempt  to  disguise 
The  disgust  he  experiences,  gravely  replies, 
"  Sire,  ask  the  Archbishop — his  Grace  of  Toledo  ! — 
He  understands  these  things  much  better  than  we  do ! " 

— Pauca  Verba .' — enough,    Each  turns  off  in  a  huff, 
This  twirling  his  moustache,  that  fingering  his  ruff, 
Like  a  bluebottle  fly  on  a  rather  large  scale, 
With  a  rather  large  corking-pin  stuck  through  his  tail 

King  Ferdinand  paces  the  royal  saloon, 

With  a  moody  brow,  and  he  looks  like  a  "  Spoon," 

And  all  the  Court  Nobles  who  form  the  ring, 

Have  a  spoony  appearance,  of  course,  like  the  King, 

All  of  them  eyeing  King  Ferdinand 

As  he  goes  up  and  down,  with  his  watch  in  his  hand, 


THE  AUTO-DA-FE.  IfiS 

Which  he  claps  to  his  ear  as  he  walks  to  and  fro, — 

"  What  is  it  can  make  the  Archbishop  so  slow  ? " 

Hark  !  at  last  there's  a  sound  in  the  courtyard  below, 

Where  the  Beefeaters  all  are  drawn  up  in  a  row, — 

I   would  say  the  "Guards,"  for  in  Spain  they're  in  chief 

eaters 
Of  omelettes  and  garlick,  and  can't  be  call'd  Beefeaters ; 

In  fact,  of  the  few    Individuals  I  knew 
Who  ever  had  happen'd  to  travel  in  Spain, 
There  has  scarce  been  a  person  who  did  not  complain 
Of  their  cookery  and  dishes  as  all  bad  in  grain, 
And  no  one  I'm  sure  will  deny  it  who's  tried  a 
Vile  compound  they  have  that's  called  Olla  podrida. 

(This,  by-the-by,    's  a  mere  rhyme  to  the  eye, 
For  in  Spanish  the  i  is  pronounced  like  an  e, 
And  they've  not  quite  our  mode  of  pronouncing  the  d. 
In  Castille,  for  instance,  it's  given  through  the  teeth, 
And  what  we  call  M.adrid  they  sound  more  like  Madreei/i.) 
Of  course  you  will  see  in  a  moment  they've  no  men 
That  at  all  correspond  with  our  Beefeating  Yeomen  ; 
So  call  them  "  Walloons,"  or  whatever  you  please, 
By  their  rattles  and  slaps  they're  not  "  standing  at  ease," 

But  beyond  all  disputing    Engaged  in  saluting 
Some  very  great  person  among  the  Grandees  ; — 
Here  a  Gentleman  Usher  walks  in  and  declares, 
"  His  Grace  the  Archbishop's  a-coming  upstairs ! " 

The  most  Reverend  Don  Garcilasso  Quevedo 

Was  just  at  this  time,  as  he    Now  held  the  Primacy 
(Always  attached  to  the  See  of  Toledo), 
A  man  of  great  worship  officii  virtute 
Versed  in  all  that  pertains  to  a  Councillor's  duty, 

Well  skill'd  to  combine    Civil  law  with  divine  ; 
As  a  statesman,  inferior  to  none  in  that  line  ; 

As  an  orator,  too,    He  was  equall'd  by  few  ; 
Uniting,  in  short,  in  tongue,  head-piece,  and  pen, 
The  very  great  powers  of  three  very  great  men, 
Talleyrand, — who  will  never  drive  down  Piccadilly  more 
To   the   Travellers'    Club-House  !  —  Charles    Phillips  —  and 
Phillimore. 

Not  only  at  home    But  even  at  Rome 


164  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

There  was  not  a  Prelate  among  them  could  cope 
With  the  Primate  of  Spain  in  the  eyes  of  the  Pope. 
(The  Conclave  was  full,  and  they'd  not  a  spare  hat,  or  bo 
'd  long  since  been  Cardinal,  Legate  a  latere, 
A  dignity  fairly  his  due  without  flattery, 
So  much  he  excited  among  all  beholders 

Their  marvel  to  see    At  his  age — thirty-three — 
Such  a  very  old  head  on  such  very  young  shoulder.s.) 
No  wonder  the  King,  then,  in  this  his  distress, 
Should  send  for  so  sage  an  adviser  express, 

Who  you'll  readily  guess,  Could  not  do  less 
Than  start  off  at  once,  without  stopping  to  dress, 
In  his  haste  to  get  Majesty  out  of  a  mess. 

His  Grace  the  Archbishop  comes  up  the  back  way — 
Set  apart  for  such  Nobles  as  have  the  entree, 
Viz.  Grandees  of  the  first  class,  both  cleric  and  lay — 
Walks  up  to  the  monarch,  and  makes  him  a  bow, 
As  a  dignified  clergyman  always  knows  how, 
Then  replaces  the  mitre  at  once  on  his  brow  ; 

For  in  Spain,  recollect,  as  a  mark  of  respect 
To  the  Crown,  if  a  Grandee  uncovers,  it's  quite 
As  a  matter  of  option,  and  not  one  of  right ; 
A  thing  not  conceded  by  our  Royal  Masters, 
Who  always  make  noblemen  take  off  their  "  castors," 

Except  the  heirs  male    Of  John  Lord  Kinsale, 
A  stalwart  old  Baron,  who,  acting  as  Henchman 
To  one  of  our  early  Kings,  kill'd  a  big  Frenchman  ; 
A  feat  which  his  Majesty  deigning  to  smile  on, 
Allow'd  him  thenceforward  to  stand  with  his  "  tile  "  on  ; 
And  all  his  successors  have  kept  the  same  privilege 
Down  from  those  barbarous  times  to  our  civil  age. 

Returning  his  bow  with  a  slight  demi-bob, 

And  replacing  the  watch  in  his  hand  in  his  fob, 

"  My  Lord,"  said  the  King,  "  here's  a  rather  tough  job. 

Which  it  seems,  of  a  sort  is,    To  puzzle  our  Cortes, 
And  since  it  has  quite  flabbergasted  that  Diet,  I 
Look  to  your  Grace  with  no  little  anxiety 

Concerning  a  point    Which  has  quite  out  of  joint 
Put  us  all  with  respect  to  the  good  of  society  : — 


THE  AUTO-DA-FE.  Iflft 

Your  Grace  is  aware    That  we've  not  got  an  Heir  j 
Now,  it  seems,  one  and  all,  they  don't  stick  to  declare 
That  of  all  our  advisers  there  is  not  in  Spain  one 
Can  tell,  like  your  Grace,  the  best  way  to  obtain  one  ; 
So  put  your  considering  cap  on — we're  curious 
To  learn  your  receipt  for  a  Prince  of  Asturias." 

One  without  the  nice  tact 

Of  his  Grace  would  have  backt 
Out  at  once,  as  the  Noblemen  did, — and,  in  fact, 
He  was,  at  the  first,  rather  posed  how  to  act — 

One  moment — no  more  ! —    Bowing  then  as  before, 
He  said,  "  Sire  'twere  superfluous  for  me  to  acquaint 
The  '  Most  Catholic  King '  in  the  world  that  a  Saint 

Is  the  usual  resource    In  these  cases, — of  course 
Of  their  influence  your  Majesty  well  knows  the  force ; 
If  I  may  be,  therefore,  allow'd  to  suggest 
The  plan  which  occurs  to  my  mind  as  the  best, 
Your  Majesty  may  go    At  once  to  St.  Jago, 
Whom,  as  Spain's  patron  Saint,  I  pick  out  from  the  rest  : 
If  your  Majesty  looks    Into  Guthrie,  or  Brooks, 
In  all  the  approved  geographical  books 
You  will  find  Compostella  laid  down  in  the  maps 
Some  two  hundred  and  sev'nty  miles  off ;  and,  perhaps, 
In  a  case  so  important  you  may  not  decline 
A  pedestrian  excursion  to  visit  his  shrine  ; 
And,  Sire,  should  you  choose    To  put  peas  in  your  shoes 
The  Saint,  as  a  Gentleman,  can't  well  refuse 
So  distinguish'd  a  Pilgrim,  especially  when  he 
Considers  the  boon  will  not  cost  him  one  penny  !  * 

His  speech  ended,  his  Grace  bowM,  and  put  on  his  mitre 
As  tight  as  before,  and  perhaps  a  thought  tighter. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  ! "  says  the  King, 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing  ! 

It's  nonsense, — Old  fellow — you  see — no  use  talking — 
The  peas  set  apart,  I  abominate  walking — 
Such  a  deuced  way  off  too — hey  1 — walk  there — what  me  ? 
Pooh  ! — it's  no  Go,  Old  fellow  ! — you  know — don't  you  see  ] '' 

"  Well,  Sire,"  with  much  sweetness  the  Prelate  replied, 
"  If  your  Majesty  don't  like  to  walk  you  can  ride ! 


166  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  then,  if  you  please,    In  lieu  of  the  peas, 
A  small  portion  of  horse-hair,  cut  fine,  we'll  insert, 
As  a  substitute  under  your  Majesty's  shirt ; 
Then  a  rope  round  your  collar  instead  of  a  laced  band,  — 
A  few  nettles  tuck'd  into  your  Majesty's  waistband, — 
Assafoetida  mix'd  with  your  "bouguei  and  civet, 
I'll  warrant  you'll  find  yourself  right  as  a  trivet ! " 

"Pooh!  pooh!    I  tell  you," 
Quoth  the  King,  "  It  won't  do !  "— 
A  cold  perspiration  began  to  bedew 
His  Majesty's  cheek,  and  he  grew  in  a  stew, 
When  Joze  de  Humez,  the  King's  privy -purse-keeper 
(Many  folks  thought  it  could  scarce  have  a  worse  keeper), 
Came  to  the  rescue,  and  said  with  a  smile, 
"  Sire,  your  Majesty  can't  go — 'twould  take  a  long  while, 
And  you  won't  post  it  under  TWO  SHILLINGS  A  MILE  !  ! 

Twenty-seven  pounds  ten    To  get  there — and  then 
Twenty-seven  pounds  ten  more  to  get  back  agen ! ! 
Sire,  the  tottle's  enormous — you  ought  to  be  King 
Of  Golconda  as  well  as  the  Indies,  to  fling 
Such  a  vast  sum  away  upon  any  such  thing  ! " 

At  this  second  rebuff    The  Archbishop  look'd  gruff, 
And  his  eye  glanced  on  Humez  as  if  he'd  said  "  Stuff ! " 
But  seeing  the  King  seem'd  himself  in  a  huff, 
He  changed  his  demeanour,  and  grew  smooth  enough  ; 
Then  taking  his  chin  'twixt  his  finger  and  thumb, 
As  a  help  to  reflection,  gave  vent  to  a  "  Hum  ! " 
'Twas  the  pause  of  an  instant — his  eye  assumed  fast 
That  expression  which  says,  "  Come,  I've  got  it  at  last ! " 

'  There's  one  plan,"  he  resumed,  "  which  with  all  due  respect  to 
Your  Majesty,  no  one,  I  think,  can  object  to — 
— Since  your  Majesty  don't  like  the  peas  in  the  shoe — or  to 
Travel — what  say  you  to  burning  a  Jew  or  two  ? 

Of  all  cookeries,  most    The  Saints  love  a  roast ! 
And  a  Jew's  of  all  others  the  best  dish  to  toast ; 

And  then  for  a  Cook    We  have  not  far  to  look — 
Father  Dominic's  self,  sire,  your  own  Grand  Inquisitor, 
Luckily  now  at  your  Court  is  a  visitor ; 


THE  AUTO-DAFE.  187 

Of  his  Rev'rence's  functions  there  is  not  one  weightier 
Than  Heretic-burning — in  fact,  'tis  his  metier. 

Besides  Alguazils    Who  still  follow  his  heels, 
He  has  always  familiars  enough  at  his  beck  at  home, 
To  pick  you  up  Hebrews  enough  for  a  hecatomb  ! 
And  depend  on  it,  Sire,  such  a  glorious  specific 
Would  make  every  Queen  throughout  Europe  prolific ! " 

Says  the  King,  "  That'll  do  1 

Pooh !  pooh ! — burn  a  Jew  ? 
Burn  half  a  score  Jews — burn  a  dozen — burn  two — 

Your  Grace,  it's  a  match  1    Burn  all  you  can  catch, 
Men,  women,  and  children — Pooh  !  pooh  ! — great  and  small — 
Old  clothes — slippers — sealing-wax — Pooh  !  burn  them  all ! 

For  once  we'll  be  gay,    A  Grand  Auto-da-fe 
Is  much  better  fun  than  a  ball  or  a  play ! " 
So  the  warrant  was  made  out  without  more  delay, 
Drawn,  seal'd,  and  deliver'd,  and 

(Signed) 

YO  EL  RE ! 

CANTO   II. 

THERE  is  not  a  nation  in  Europe  but  labours 
To  toady  itself  and  to  humbug  its  neighbours — 
"  Earth  has  no  such  folks — no  folks  such  a  city, 
So  great  or  so  grand,  or  so  fine,  or  so  pretty," 

Said  Louis  Quatorze,    "  As  this  Paris  of  ours ! " 
— Mr.  Daniel  O'Connell  exclaims,  "  By  the  Pow'rs, 
Ould  Ireland's  on  all  hands  admitted  to  be 
The  first  flow'r  of  the  earth,  and  first  Gim  of  the  sea ! "— 
— Mr.  Bull  will  inform  you  that  Neptune, — a  lad  he, 
With  more  of  affection  than  rev'rence,  styles,  "  Daddy," — 

Did  not  scruple  to  "  say    To  Freedom,  one  day,' 
That  if  ever  he  changed  his  aquatics  for  dry  land, 
His  home  should  be  Mr.  B's  "  Tight  little  Island."— 

He  adds,  too,  that  he,    The  said  Mr.  B., 
Of  all  possible  Frenchmen  can  fight  any  three  ; 
That,  with  no  greater  odds,  he  knows  well  how  to  treat  them, 
To  meet  them,  defeat  them,  and  beat  them,  and  eat  them.  — 
— In  Italy,  too,  'tis  the  same  to  the  letter ; 

There  each  Lazzarone    Will  cry  to  his  crony, 
"  See  Naples,  then  die  I  and  the  sooner  the  better  ! " 


168  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  Portuguese  say,  as  a  well  understood  thing, 

"  Who  has  not  seen  Lisbon  has  not  seen  a  good  thing  ! " — 

While  an  old  Spanish  proverb  runs  glibly  as  under, 

"QUIEN  NO   HA  VISTO  SEVILLA 
NO   HA  VISTO  MAEAVILLA," 

"He   who    ne'er   has    view'd    Seville   has    ne'er    view'd 

Wonder!" 
And  from  all  I  can  learn  this  is  no  such  great  blunder. 

In  fact,  from  the  river,    The  famed  Guadalquiver, 
Where  many  a  knight's  had  cold  steel  through  his  liver, 
The  prospect  is  grand.    The  Iglesia  Mayor 
Has  a  splendid  effect  on  the  opposite  shore, 
With  its  lofty  Giralda,  while  two  or  three  score 
Of  magnificent  structures  around,  perhaps  more. 
As  our  Irish  friends  have  it,  are  there  "  to  the  fore  : " 

Then  the  old  Alcazar,    More  ancient  by  far, 
As  some  say,  while  some  call  it  one  of  the  palaces 
Built  in  twelve  hundred  and  odd  by  Abdalasis, 
With  its  horse-shoe  shaped  arches  of  arabesque  tracery, 
Which  the  architect  seems  to  have  studied  to  place  awry, 

Saracenic  and  rich  ;    And  more  buildings  "  the  which," 
As  old  Lilly,  in  whom  I've  been  looking  a  bit  o'  late, 
Says,  "  You'd  be  bored  should  I  now  recapitulate  ; " 

In  brief,  then,  the  view    Is  so  fine  and  so  new, 
It  would  make  you  exclaim,  'twould  so  forcibly  strike  ye, 
If  a  Frenchman,  "  Superbe  ! " — if  an  Englishman,  "  Crikey  ! " 

Yes !  thou  art  "  WONDERFUL  !  " — but  oh, 

'Tis  sad  to  think,  'mid  scenes  so  bright 
As  thine  fair  Seville,  sounds  of  woe, 

And  shrieks  of  pain  and  wild  affright, 
And  soul-wrung  groans  of  deep  despair, 
And  blood,  and  death  should  mingle  there  ! 

Yes !  thou  art  "  WONDERFUL  !  "—the  flames 

That  on  thy  towers  reflected  shine, 
While  earth's  proud  Lords,  and  high-born  Dames. 

Descendants  of  a  mighty  line, 
With  cold  unalter'd  looks  are  by 
To  gaze,  with  an  unpitying  eye, 
On  wretches  in  their  agony. 


TBE  AUTO-DA-FE.  169 

All  speak  thee  "  WONDERFUL  "—the  phrase 
Befits  thee  well — tho  fearful  blaze 
Of  yon  piled  faggots'  lurid  light, 
Where  writhing  victims  mock  the  sight, — 
The  scorch'd  limb  shrivelling  in  its  chains, — 
The  hot  blood  parch'd  in  living  veins, — 
The  crackling  nerve — the  fearful  knell 
Wrung  out  by  that  remorseless  bell, — 
Those  shouts  from  human  fiends  that  swell, — 
That  withering  scream, — that  frantic  yell, — 
All,  Seville,— all  too  truly  tell 
Thou  art  a  "  MARVEL  "—and  a  Hell ! 
God  !  that  the  worm  whom  thou  hast  made 
Should  thus  his  brother  worm  invade  1 
Count  deeds  like  these  good  service  done, 
And  deem  THINE  eye  looks  smiling  on  !  ! 

Yet  there  at  his  ease,  with  his  whole  Court  around  him, 
King  Ferdinand  sits  "  in  his  GLORY  "—  confound  him  I — 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair,    With  a  satisfied  air, 
And  enjoying  the  bother,  the  smoke  and  the  smother, 
With  one  knee  cock'd  carelessly  over  the  other ; 

His  pouncet-box  goes    To  and  fro  at  his  nose, 
As  somewhat  misliking  the  smell  of  old  clothes, 
And  seeming  to  hint,  by  this  action  emphatic, 
That  Jews,  e'en  when  roasted,  are  not  aromatic  ; 

There,  too,  fair  Ladies    From  Xeres,  and  Cadiz, 
Catalinas,  and  Julias,  and  fair  Inesillas, 
In  splendid  lace  veils,  and  becoming  mantillas  j 
Elviras,  Antonias,  and  Claras  and  Floras, 
And  dark-eyed  Jacinthas,  and  soft  Isidoras, 
Are  crowding  the  "  boxes,"  and  looking  on  coolly  as 
Though  'twas  but  one  of  their  common  tertulias, 
Partaking,  as  usual,  of  wafer  and  ices, 
Snow-water,  and  melons  cut  out  into  slices, 
And  chocolate, — furnish'd  at  coffee-house  prices  ; 

While  many  a  suitor,    And  gay  coadjutor 
In  the  eating-and-drinking  line  scorns  to  be  neuter  ; 
One,  being  perhaps  just  return'd  with  his  tutor 
From  travel  in  England,  is  tempting  his  "future  " 
With  a  luxury  neat  as  imported,  "  The  Pewter," 

F* 


170  tHE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  charming  the  dear  Violantes  and  Ineses 

With  a  three-corner'd  Sandwich,  and  soupfon  of  "  Guinness's  : " 

While  another,  from  Paris  but  newly  come  back, 

Hints  "  the  least  taste  in  life  "  of  the  best  cogniac. 

Such  ogling  and  eyeing,    In  short,  and  such  sighing, 

And  such  complimenting  (one  must  not  say  1 g), 

Of  smart  Cavaliers  with  each  other  still  vying, 

Mix'd  up  with  the  crying,    And  groans  of  the  dying, 
All  hissing,  and  spitting,  and  broiling,  and  frying, 
Form  a  scene  which,  although  there  can  be  no  denying 
To  a  bon  Catholique  it  may  prove  edifying, 
I  doubt  if  a  Protestant  smart  Beau,  or  merry  Belle, 
Might  not  shrink  from  it  as  somewhat  too  terrible. 
It's  a  question  with  me  if  you  ever  survey'd  a 
More  stern-looking  mortal  than  old  Torquemada, 
Renown'd  Father  Dominic,  famous  for  twisting  dom- 
-estic  and  foreign  necks  all  over  Christendom ; 
Morescoes  or  Jews.    Not  a  penny  to  choose, 
If  a  dog  of  a  heretic  dare  to  refuse 
A  glass  of  old  port,  or  a  slice  from  a  griskin, 
The  good  Padre  soon  would  so  set  him  a  frisking 
That  I  -would  not,  for — more  than  111  say — be  in  his  skin 

Twas  just  the  same  thing  with  his  own  race  and  nation, 
And  Christian  Dissenters  of  every  persuasion, 

Muggletonian  or  Quaker,    Or,  Jumper  or  Shaker, 
No  matter  with  whom  in  opinion  partaker, 
George  Whitfield,  John  Bunyan,  or  Thomas  Gat-acre, 
They'd  no  better  chance  than  a  Bonze  or  a  Fakir  ; 
If  a  woman,  it  skill'd  not — if  she  did  not  deem  as  he 
Bade  her  to  deem  touching  Papal  supremacy, 

By  the  Pope,  but  he'd  make  her  !    From  error  awake  her 
Or  else — pop  her  into  an  oven  and  bake  her  ! 
No  one,  in  short,  ever  came  half  so  near,  as  he 
Did,  to  the  full  extirpation  of  heresy ; 
And  if,  in  the  times  of  which  now  I  am  treating, 
There  had  been  such  a  thing  as  a  "  Manchester  Meeting," 
*  Pretty  pork  "  he'd  have  made  "  Moderator  "  and  "  Minister, 
Had  he  but  caught  them  on  his  side  Cape  Finisterre  ; — 
Pye  Smith,  and  the  rest  of  them  once  in  his  bonfire,  hence- 
forth you'd  have  heard  little  more  of  the  "  CONFERENCE." 


THE  AUTO-DA-FE.  171 

And  there — on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ring, 
He,  too,  sits  "  in  his  GLORY,"  confronting  the  King, 
With  his  cast-iron  countenance  frowning  austerely, 
That  match'd  with  his  en  bon  point  body  but  queerly, 
For  though  grim  his  visage,  his  person  was  pursy, 

Belying  the  rumour    Of  fat  folks'  good  humour  ; 
Above  waves  his  banner  of  "  Justice  and  Mercy," 
Below  and  around  stand  a  terrible  band  ad- 
-ding  much  to  the  scene — viz.,  The  "  Holy  Hermandad" 
That's  "  Brotherhood," — each  looking  grave  as  a  "  Grand-dad." 

Within  the  arena    Before  them  is  seen  a 
Strange,  odd-looking  group,  each  one  dress'd  in  a  garment 
Not  "  dandified"  clearly,  as  certainly  "  varment," 
Being  all  over  vipers  and  snakes,  and  stuck  thick 
With  multiplied  silhouette  profiles  of  NICK  ; 
And  a  cap  of  the  same,    All  devils  and  flame, 
Extinguisher-shaped  much  like  Salisbury  Spire, 
Except  that  the  latter's  of  course  somewhat  higher  ; 

A  long  yellow  pin-a-fore, 

Hangs  down  each  chin  afore, 
On  which,  ere  the  wearer  had  donn'd  it,  a  man  drew 
The  Scotch  badge,  a  Saltire,  or  Cross  of  St.  Andrew ; 
Though  I  fairly  confess  I  am  quite  at  a  loss 
To  guess  why  they  should  choose  that  particular  cross, 

Or  to  make  clear  to  you    What  the  Scotch  had  to  do 
At  all  with  the  business  in  hand, — though  it's  true 
That  the  vestment  aforesaid,  perhaps  from  its  hue, 
Viz.  yellow,  in  juxta-position  with  blue 
(A  tinge  of  which  latter  tint  could  but  accrue 
On  the  faces  of  wretches,  of  course,  in  a  stew 
As  to  what  their  tormentors  were  going  to  do), 
Might  make  people  fancy,  who  no  better  knew, 
They  were  somehow  connected  with  Jeffrey's  Review  ; 

Especially,  too,    As  it's  certain  that  few 
Things  would  make  Father  Dominic  blither  or  happier 
Than  to  catch  hold  of  it,  or  its  Chef,  Macvey  Napier. — 
No  matter  for  that — my  description  to  crown, 
All  the  flames  and  the  devils  Avere  turn'd  upside  down 
On  this  habit,  facetiously  term'd  San  Benito, 

Much  like  the  dress  suit    Of  some  nondescript  brute 
From  the  show- van  of  Wombwell  (not  George),  or  Polito. 


172  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  thrice  happy  they,    Dress'd  out  in  this  way 
To  appear  with  eclat  at  the  Auto-da-fe, — 
Thrice  happy  indeed  whom  the  good  luck  might  fall  to 
Of  devils  tail  upward,  and  "  Fuego  revolto" 

For  only  see  there,    In  the  midst  of  the  Square, 

Where,  perch'd  up  on  poles  six  feet  high  in  the  air. 
Sit,  chain'd  to  the  stake,  some  two,  three,  or  four  pair 
Of  wretches,  whose  eyes,  nose,  complexion,  and  hair 
Their  Jewish  descent  but  too  plainly  declare, 
Each  clothed  in  a  garment  more  frightful  by  far,  a 
Smock-frock  sort  of  gaberdine,  call'd  a  Samarra, 
With  three  times  the  number  of  devils  upon  it, — 
A  proportion  observed  on  the  sugar-loaf  d  bonnet, 
With  this  further  distinction — of  mischief  a  proof — 
That  every  fiend  Jack  stands  upright  on  his  hoof  ! 

While  the  pictured  flames,  spread    Over  body  and  head, 
Are  three  times  as  crooked,  and  three  times  as  red  1 
All,  too,  pointing  upwards,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Here's  the  real  bonne  louche  of  the  Auto-da-fe." 

Torquemada,  meanwhile,    With  his  cold,  cruel  smile, 
Sits  looking  on  calmly,  and  watching  the  pile, 
As  his  hooded  "  Familiars  "  (their  names,  as  some  tell,  come 
From  their  being  so  much  more  "  familiar  "  than  "  welcome  ") 

Have,  by  this  time,  begun    To  be  "  poking  their  fun," 
And  their  firebrands,  as  if  they  were  so  many  posies 

Of  lilies  and  roses,    Up  to  the  noses 
Of  Lazarus  Levi  and  Money  Ben  Moses ; 
While  similar  treatment  is  forcing  out  hollow  moans 
From  Aby  Ben  Lasco  and  Ikey  Ben  Solomons, 
Whose  beards — this  a  black,  that  inclining  to  grizzle — 
Are  smoking,  and  curling,  and  all  in  a  fizzle ; 
The  King,  at  the  same  time,  his  Dons  and  his  visitors, 
Sit,  sporting  smiles,  like  the  Holy  Inquisitors. 

Enough  ! — no  more ! —    Thank  Heaven,  'tis  o'er ! 
The  tragedy's  done !  and  we  now  draw  a  veil 
O'er  a  scene  which  makes  outraged  humanity  quail ; 
The  last  fire's  exhausted,  and  spent  like  a  rocket, 
The  last  wretched  Hebrew's  burnt  down  in  his  socket ! 
The  Barriers  are  open,  and  all,  saints  and  sinners, 
King,  Court,  Lords,  and  Commons,  gone  home  to  their  dinners, 


THE  AUTO-DA-FE.  173 

With  a  pleasing  emotion    Produced  by  the  notion 
Of  having  exhibited  so  much  devotion, 
All  chuckling  to  think  how  the  Saints  are  delighted 
At  having  seen  so  many  "  Smouches  "  ignited  : — 

All  save  Privy-purse  Humez, 

Who  sconced  in  his  room  is, 
And,  Cocker  in  hand,  in  his  leather-back'd  chair, 
Is  puzzling  to  find  out  how  much  the  "  affair  " 
(By  deep  calculations,  the  which  I  can't  follow,)  cost, 
The  tottle,  in  short,  of  the  whole  of  the  Holocaust 

Perhaps  you  may  think  it  a  rather  odd  thing, 

That  while  talking  so  much  of  the  Court  and  the  King, 

In  describing  the  scene    Through  which  we've  just  been 
I've  not  said  one  syllable  as  to  the  Queen ; 
Especially,  too,  as  her  Majesty's  "  Whereabouts," 
All  things  consider'd,  might  well  be  thought  thereabouts ; 
The  fact  was,  however,  although  little  known, 
Sa  Magestad  had  hit  on  a  plan  of  her  own, 
And  suspecting,  perhaps,  that  an  Auto  alone 
Might  fail  in  securing  this  "  Heir  to  the  throne," 

Had  made  up  her  mind,    Although  well  inclined 
Towards  galas  and  shows  of  no  matter  what  kind, 

For  once  to  retire,    And  bribe  the  Saint  higher 
Than  merely  by  sitting  and  seeing  a  fire, — 
A  sight,  after  all,  she  did  not  much  admire  ; 

So  she  lock'd  herself  up,    Without  platter  or  cup, 
In  her  Oriel,  resolved  not  to  take  bite  or  sup, 
Not  so  much  as  her  matin-draught  (our  "  early  purl "), 
Nor  put  on  her  jewels,  nor  e'en  let  the  girl, 
Who  help'd  her  to  dress,  take  her  hair  out  of  curl, 
But  to  pass  the  whole  morning  in  telling  her  beads, 
And  in  reading  the  lives  of  the  Saints,  and  their  deeds, 
And  in  vowing  to  visit,  without  shoes  or  sandals, 
Their  shrines,  with  unlimited  orders  for  candles, 
Holy  water,  and  Masses  of  Mozart's  and  Handel's. 
And  many  a  Pater,  and  Ave,  and  Credo 
Did  She,  and  her  Father  Confessor,  Quevedo 
(The  clever  Archbishop,  you  know,  of  Toledo), 
Who  came,  as  before,  at  a  very  short  warning, 
Get  through,  without  doubt,  in  the  course  of  that  morning, 


174  THE  INGOLDSDY  LEGENDS, 

Shut  up,  as  they  were,    With  nobody  there 
To  at  all  interfere  with  so  pious  a  pair ; 
And  the  Saints  must  have  been  stony-hearted  indeed, 
If  they  had  not  allow'd  all  these  pains  to  succeed. 
Nay,  it's  not  quite  clear  to  me,  but  their  very  ability 

Might,  Spain  throughout, 

Have  been  brought  into  doubt, 

Had  the  Royal  bed  still  remain'd  cursed  with  sterility ; 
St  Jago,  however,  who  always  is  jealous, 
In  Spanish  affairs,  as  their  best  authors  tell  us, 

And  who,  if  he  saw    Anything  like  a  flaw 
In  Spain's  welfare,  would  soon  sing,  "  Old  Rose,  burn  the 

bellows!" 
Set  matters  to  rights  like  a  King  of  good  fellows  : 

By  his  interference,    Three-fourths  of  a  year  hence, 
There  was  nothing  but  capering,  dancing,  and  singing, 
Cachucas,  Boleros,  and  bells  set  a  ringing 

In  both  the  Castilles,    Triple-bob-major  peals, 
Rope-dancing,  and  tumbling,  and  somerset-flinging, 

Seguidillas,  Fandangos,    While  ev'ry  gun  bang  goes  ; 
And  all  the  way  through,  from  Gibraltar  to  Biscay 
Figueras  and  Sherry  make  all  the  Dons  frisky 
(Save  Moore's  "Blakes  and  O'Donnells,"  who  stick  to  the 
whisky)  ; 

All  the  day  long    The  dance  and  the  song 
Continue  the  general  joy  to  prolong ; 
And  even  long  after  the  close  of  the  day 
You  can  hear  little  else  but  "  Hip  !  hip !  hurray  1 " 
The  Escurial,  however,  is  not  quite  so  gay, 
For,  whether  the  Saint  had  not  perfectly  heard 
The  petition  the  Queen  and  Archbishop  preferr'd, — 
Or  whether  his  head,  from  his  not  being  used 
To  an  Aiito-da-fe,  was  a  little  confused, — 
Or  whether  the  King,  in  the  smoke  and  the  smother, 
Got  bother'd,  and  so  made  some  blunder  or  other, 

I  am  sure  I  can't  say ;    All  I  know  is,  that  day 
There  must  have  been  some  mistake ! — that,  I'm  afraid,  is 

Only  too  clear,    Inasmuch  as  the  dear 
RoyalTwins, — though  fine  babies, — proved  both  little  LAMKS  ! 


THE  IXGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  175 

MORAL. 

Header ! — Not  knowing  what  your  "  persuasion  "  may  be, 

Mahometan,  Jewish,  or  even  Parsee, 

Take  a  little  advice  which  may  serve  for  all  three ! 

First—"  When  you  are  at  Rome,  do  as  Rome  does ! "  and  note 

all  her 
Ways — drink  what  She  drinks !  and  don't  turn  Tee-totaller ! 

In  Spain,  raison  deplus,    You  must  do  as  they  do, 
Inasmuch  as  they're  all  there  "  at  sixes  and  sevens," 

Just  as,  you  know,    They  were  some  years  ago, 
In  the  days  of  Don  Carlos  and  Brigadier  Evans  ; 
Don't  be  nice,  then — but  take  what  they've  got  in  their  shops, 
Whether  griskins  or  sausages,  ham,  or  pork-chops  ! 

Next — Avoid  Fancy-trousers  ! — their  colours  and  shapes 

Sometimes,  as  you  see,  may  lead  folks  into  scrapes ! 

For  myself,  I  confess,    I've  but  small  taste  in  dress, 

My  opinion  is,  therefore,  worth  nothing — or  less — 

But  some  friends  I've  consulted, — much  given  to  watch  one's 

Apparel — do  say    It's  by  far  the  best  way, 
And  the  safest,  to  do  as  Lord  Brougham  does — buy  Scotch 

ones! 

I  might  now  volunteer  some  advice  to  a  King, — 
Let  Whigs  say  what  they  will,  I  shall  do  no  such  thing, 
But  copy  my  betters,  and  never  begin 
Until,  like  Sir  Robert,  "  I'm  duly  CALL'D  JN  ! " 


A   LEGEND  OF  PALESTINE— AND  WEST   KENT 
I'll  devise  thee  brave  punishments  for  him  ! — SHAKESPEARE. 

OUT  and  spake  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
A  stalwart  knight,  I  ween,  was  he, 

"  Come  east,  come  west,    Come  lance  in  rest, 
Come  falchion  in  hand,  I'll  tickle  the  best 
Of  all  the  Soldan's  Chivalrie ! " 


176  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Oh  !  they  came  west,  and  they  came  east, 
Twenty-four  Emirs  and  Sheiks  at  the  least, 

And  they  hammer'd  away    At  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
Fall  back,  fall  edge,  cut,  thrust,  and  point, — 
But  he  topp'd  off  head,  and  he  lopp'd  off  joint ; 

Twenty  and  three,    Of  high  degree, 
Lay  stark  and  stiff  on  the  crimson'd  lea, 
All — all  save  one — and  he  ran  up  a  tree  ! 
"  Now  count  them,  my  Squire,  now  count  them  and  see -5 

"  Twenty  and  three  I    Twenty  and  three  !• — 
All  of  them  Nobles  of  high  degree  ; 
There  they  be  lying  on  Ascalon  lea !  " 

Out  and  spake  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
"  What  news  1  what  news  ?  come,  tell  to  me  t 

What  news  ?  what  news,  thou  little  Foot-page  ? 

I've  been  whacking  the  foe,  till  it  seems  an  age 
Since  I  was  in  Ingoldsby  Hall  so  free  ! 

What  news  ?  what  news  from  Ingoldsby  Hall  V 

Come  tell  me  now,  thou  Page  so  small-! " 

"Oh,  Hawk  and  Hound    Are  safe  and  soundj 
Beast  in  byre  and  Steed  in  stall ; 

And  the  Watch-dog's  bark,    As  soon  as  it's  dark , 
Bays  wakeful  guard  around  Ingoldsby  Hall- ! " 

— "I care  not  a  pound    For  Hawk  or  for  Hound  , 
For  Steed  in  stall,  or  for  Watch-dog's  bay  : 

Fain  would  I  hear    Of  my  dainty  dear  ; 
How  fares  Dame  Alice,  my  Lady  gay  1 " — 
Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray,  he  said  in  his  rage, 
"  What  news  1  what  news  1  thou  naughty  Foot-page !  '**—~ 

That  little  Foot-page  full  low  crouch'd  he, 
And  he  doff  d  his  cap,  and  he  bended  his  knee, 
M  Now  lithe  and  listen,  Sir  Bray,  to  me  : 
Lady  Alice  sits  lonely  in  bower  and  hall, 
Her  sighs  they  rise,  and  her  tears  they  fall : 

She  sits  alone    And  she  makes  her  moan  ; 

Dance  and  song    She  considers  quite  wrong ; 

Feast  and  revel    Mere  snares  of  the  devil ; 
She  mendeth  her  hose,  and  she  crieth,  '  Alack  1 

When  will  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  come  back  1 ' " 
"* 


THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  IZ7 

"  Thou  liest !  thou  liest,  thou  naughty  Foot-page,. 
Full  loud  dost  thou  lie,  false  Page,  to  me ! 

There,  in  thy  breast,    'Neath  thy  silken  vest; 
What  scroll  is  that,  false  Page,  I  see  ? " 

Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  in  his  rage  drew  near, 
That  little  Foot-page  he  blench'd  with  fear  ! 

"  Now  where  may  the  Prior  of  Abingdon  lie  1 
King  Kichard's  Confessor,  I  ween,  is  he, 
And  tidings  rare    To  him  do  I  bear, 
And  news  of  price  from  his  rich  Ab-bee ! " 

"  Now  nay,  now  nay,  thou  naughty  Page  ! 
No  learned  clerk,  I  trow,  am  I, 

But  well,  I  ween,    May  there  be  seen 
Dame  Alice's  hand  with  half  an  eye  ! 
Now  nay,  now  nay,  thou  naughty  Page, 
From  Abingdon  Abbey  comes  not  thy  news ; 

Although  no  clerk,     Well  may  I  mark 
The  particular  turn  of  her  P's  and  her  Q's  ! " 

Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray,  in  his  fury  and  rage, 

By  the  back  of  the  neck  takes  that  little  Foot-page  ; 

The  scroll  he  seizes,    The  Page  he  squeezes, 
And  buffets, — and  pinches  his  nose  till  he  sneezes  ; 
Then  he  cuts  with  his  dagger  the  silken  threads 
Which  they  used  in  those  days,  'stead  of  little  Queen's-heads 

When  the  contents  of  the  scroll  met  his  view, 
Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  in  a  passion  grew, 

Backward  he  drew    Has  nailed  shoe, 
And  he  kick'd  that  naughty  Foot-page  that  he  flew 
Like  a  cloth-yard  shaft  from  a  bended  yew,. 
I  may  not  say  whither — I  never  knew. 

"  Now  count  the  slain    Upon  Ascalon  plain, — 
Go  count  them,  my  Squire,  go  count  them  again  !.'" 

"  Twenty  and  three  !    There  they  be, 
Stiff  and  stark  on  that  crimson'd  lea  ! — 
Twenty  and  three  1—    — Stay — let  me  see ! 
Stretch'd  in  his  gore    There  lieth  one  more ! 
By  the  Pope'a  triple  crown  there  are  twenty  and/owr,  7 


178  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Twenty-four  trunks,  I  ween,  are  there, 

But  their  heads  and  their  limbs  are  no-body  knows  where ! 

Ay,  twenty-four  corses,  I  rede,  there  be, 

Though  one  got  away  and  ran  up  a  tree ! " 

"  Look  nigher,  look  nigher,    My  trusty  Squire  !  " — 
"  One  is  the  corse  of  a  bare-footed  Friar !  !  " 

Out  and  spake  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
"  A  boon,  a  boon,  King  Richard,"  quoth  he, 
"  Now  HeaVn  thee  save,    A  boon  I  crave, 
A  boon,  Sir  King,  on  my  bended  knee ; 

A  year  and  a  day    Have  I  been  away, 
King  Richard  from  Ingoldsby  Hall  so  free ; 
Dame  Alice  she  sits  there  in  lonely  guise, 
And  she  makes  her  moan,  and  she  sobs  and  she  sigh*, 
And  tears  like  rain-drops  fall  from  her  eyes, 
And  she  darneth  her  hose,  and  she  crieth, '  Alack ! 
Oh !  when  will  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  come  back  1 ' 
A  boon,  a  boon,  my  Liege,"  quoth  he, 
"  Fair  Ingoldsby  Hall  I  fain  would  see  I " 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray," 
King  Richard,  said  right  graciously, 

"  Of  all  in  my  host    That  I  love  the  most, 
I  love  none  better,  Sir  Bray,  than  thee  ! 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  thou  hast  thy  boon ; 
But — mind  you  make  haste,  and  come  back  again  soon  !  * 

FYTTE  n. 

Pope  Gregory  sits  in  St.  Peter's  chair, 
Pontiff  proud,  I  ween,  is  he, 
And  a  belted  Knight,    In  armour  dight, 

Is  begging  a  boon  on  his  bended  knee, 

With  signs  of  grief  and  sounds  of  woe 

Featly  he  kisseth  his  Holiness'  toe. 

"  Now  pardon,  Holy  Father,  I  crave, 
O  Holy  Father,  pardon  and  grace ! 
In  my  fury  and  rage    A  little  Foot-page 
I  have  left,  I  fear  me,  in  evil  case  : 

A  scroll  of  shame    From  a  faithless  dame 
Did  that  naughty  Foot-page  to  a  paramour  bear  : 


THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  179 

I  gave  him  a  '  lick '    With  a  stick,    And  a  kick, 
That  sent  him — I  can't  tell  your  Holiness  where ! 
Had  he  as  many  necks  as  hairs, 
He  had  broken  them  all  down  those  perilous  stairs  1 " 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  I  say  to  thee  ; 

A  soldier,  I  trow,    Of  the  Cross  art  thou ; 
Rise  up,  rise  up  from  thy  bended  knee  ! 
Ill  it  beseems  that  a  soldier  true 
Of  holy  Church  should  vainly  sue  : — 
— Foot-pages,  they  are  by  no  means  rare, 
A  thriftless  crew,  I  ween,  be  they, 

Well  mote  we  spare    A  Page— or  a  pair, 
For  the  matter  of  that — Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray. 

But  stout  and  true    Soldiers,  like  you, 
Grow  scarcer  and  scarcer  every  day ! 

Be  prayers  for  the  dead    Duly  read, 
Let  a  mass  be  sung,  and  a  pat er  be  said ; 
So  may  your  qualms  of  conscience  cease, 
And  the  little  Foot-page  shall  rest  in  peace  ! " 

"Now  pardon,  Holy  Father,  I  crave, 

0  Holy  Father,  pardon  and  grace ! 

Dame  Alice,  my  wife,    The  bane  of  my  life, 

1  have  left,  I  fear  me,  in  evil  case ! 
A  scroll  of  shame  in  my  rage  I  tore, 
Which  that  caitiff  Page  to  a  paramour  bore  ; 
Twere  bootless  to  tell  how  I  storm'd  and  swore 
Alack  !  alack !  too  surely  I  knew 

The  turn  of  each  P,  and  the  tail  of  each  Q, 
And  away  to  Ingoldsby  Hall  I  flew  ! 

Dame  Alice  I  found, —    She  sank  on  the  ground, — 
I  twisted  her  neck  till  I  twisted  it  round ! 
With  jibe  and  jeer,  and  mock  and  scoff, 
I  twisted  it  on — till  I  twisted  it  off! — 
All  the  King's  Doctors  and  all  the  King's  Men 
Can't  put  fair  Alice's  head  on  agen ! "  >  , 

"  Well-a-day !  well-a-day  !    Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
Why  really  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  : — 


ISO  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Foul  sin,  I  trow,  a  fair  Ladye  to  slay, 

Because  she's  perhaps  been  a  little  too  gay. — 

—  Monk  must  chant  and  Nun  must  pray 

For  each  mass  they  sing,  and  each  pray'r  they  say, 

For  a  year  and  a  day,    Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray 
A  fair  rose-noble  must  duly  pay  I 
So  may  his  qualms  of  conscience  cease, 
And  the  soul  of  Dame  Alice  may  rest  in  peace ! " 

"  Now  pardon,  Holy  Father,  I  crave, 

0  Holy  Father,  pardon  and  grace ! 

No  power  could  save    That  paramour  knave  ; 

1  left  him,  I  wot,  in  evil  case ! 

There,  'midst  the  slain    Upon  Ascalon  plain, 
Unburied,  I  trow,  doth  his  body  remain, 
His  legs  lie  here,  and  his  arms  lie  there, 
And  his  head  lies — I  can't  tell  your  Holiness  where » 

"Now  out  and  alas  1  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
Foul  sin  it  were,  thou  doughty  Knight, 

To  hack  and  to  hew    A  champion  true 
Of  Holy  Church  in  such  pitiful  plight  I 
Foul  sin  her  warriors  so  to  slay, 
When  they're  scarcer  and  scarcer  every  day ! — 

— A  chantry  fair,    And  of  Monks  a  pair, 
To  pray  for  his  soul  for  ever  and  aye, 
Thou  must  duly  endow,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
And  fourteen  marks  by  the  year  must  thou  pay 

For  plenty  of  lights    To  burn  there  o'  nights— 
.None  of  your  rascally  "  dips  " — but  sound, 
Round,  ten-penny  moulds  of  four  to  the  pound ; — 
.And  a  shirt  of  the  roughest  and  coarsest  hair 
For  a  year  and  a  day,  Sir  Ingoldsby,  wear ! 
:So  may  your  qualms  of  conscience  cease, 
And  the  soul  of  the  Soldier  shall  rest  in  peace  ! " 

"  Now  nay,  Holy  Father,  now  nay,  now  nay  ! 

Xess  penance  may  serve ! "  quoth  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 

No  champion  free  of  the  Cross  was  he ; 
.No  belted  Baron  of  high  degree ; 

No  Knight  nor  Squire    Did  there  expire  j 
fle  was,  I  trow  but  a  bare-footed  Friar ! 


THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  181 

And  the  Abbot  of  Abingdon  long  may  wait 
With  his  monks  around  him,  and  early  and  late 
May  look  from  loop-hole,  and  turret,  and  gate, 
He  hath  lost  his  Prior — his  Prior  his  pate ! " 

"  Now  Thunder  and  turf ! "  Pope  Gregory  said, 

And  his  hair  raised  his  triple  crown  right  off  his  head  - 

"  Now  Thunder  and  turf !  and  out  and  alas  ! 

A  horrible  thing  has  come  to  pass ! 

What ! — cut  off  the  head  of  a  reverend  Prior, 

And  say  he  was  '  only  ( '  '  h  a  bare-footed  Friar ! ' — 

'  What  Baron  or  Squire, 

Or  Knight  of  the  shire, 
Is  half  so  good  as  a  holy  Friar  ? ' 

0  iwrpissime !  Vir  nequissime  ! 
Sceleratissime ! — quissime  I — issime  ! 
Never,  I  trow,  have  the  Servi  servorum 

Had  before  'em    Such  a  breach  of  decorum. 
Such  a  gross  violation  of  morwm  bonorum, 
And  won't  have  again  scecula  sceculorum ! — 

Come  hither  to  me,    My  Cardinals  three, 

My  Bishops  in  partibus,    Masters  in  Artibua, 

Hither  to  me  A.B.  and  D.D. 

Doctors  and  Proctors  of  every  degree. 
Go  fetch  me  a  book ! — go  fetch  me  a  bell 
As  big  as  a  dustman's  ! — and  a  candle  as  well — 
I'll  send  him — where  good  manners  won't  let  me  tell ! ' 

— "  Pardon  and  grace ! — now  pardon  and  grace ! " 

— Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  fell  flat  on  his  face — 

Med  culpd  ! — in  sooth  I'm  in  pitiful  case. 

Peccavi  I  peccavi  I — I've  done  very  wrong ! 

But  my  heart  it  is  stout,  and  my  arm  it  is  strong, 

And  I'll  fight  for  Holy  Church  all  the  day  long ; 

And  the  Ingoldsby  lands  are  broad  and  fair, 
And  they're  here,  and  they're  there,  and  I  can't  tell  you  where, 
And  Holy  Church  shall  come  in  for  her  share ! " 

Pope  Gregory  paused,  and  he  sat  himself  down, 
And  he  somewhat  relaxed  his  terrible  frown, 
And  his  Cardinals  three  the.y  pick'd  up  his  crown. 


182  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

"  Now,  if  it  be  so  that  you  own  you've  been  wrong, 
And  your  heart  is  so  stout,  and  your  arm  is  so  strong, 
And  you  really  will  fight  like  a  trump  all  day  long ; 
If  the  Ingoldsby  lands  do  lie  here  and  there, 
And  Holy  Church  shall  come  in  for  her  share, — 
Why,  my  Cardinals  three, 
You'll  agree    With  me 

That  it  gives  a  new  turn  to  the  whole  affair, 

And  I  think  that  the  Penitent  need  not  despair  ! 

— If  it  be  so,  as  you  seem  to  say, 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray ! 


"  An  Abbey  so  fair  Sir  Bray  shall  found, 
Whose  innermost  wall's  encircling  bound 
Shall  take  in  a  couple  of  acres  of  ground ; 
And  there  in  that  Abbey  all  the  year  round, 
A  full  choir  of  monks,  and  a  full  choir  of  nuns, 
Shall  live  upon  cabbage  and  hot-cross  buns. 

And  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray,    Without  delay, 

Shall  hie  him  again    To  Ascalon  plain, 
And  gather  the  bones  of  the  foully  slain  : 
And  shall  place  said  bones,  with  all  possible  care, 
In  an  elegant  shrine  in  his  Abbey  so  fair  ; 

And  plenty  of  lights    Shall  be  there  o'  nights  ; 
None  of  your  rascally  '  dips,'  but  sound, 
Best  superfine  wax-wicks,  four  to  the  pound ; 

And  Monk  and  Nun    Shall  pray,  each  one, 
For  the  soul  of  the  Prior  of  Abingdon  ! 
And  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray,  so  bold  and  so  brave, 
Never  shall  wash  himself,  comb,  or  shave, 

Nor  adorn  his  body,    Nor  drink  gin-toddy, 

Nor  indulge  in  a  pipe, —    But  shall  dine  upon  tripe. 
And  blackberries  gather'd  before  they  are  ripe, 
And  for  ever  abhor,  renounce,  and  abjure 
Rum,  hollands,  and  brandy,  wine,  punch,  and  liqueur : " 

(Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray    Here  gave  way 
To  a  feeling  which  prompted  a  word  profane, 
But  he  swallow'd  it  down,  by  an  effort,  again, 
And  his  Holiness  luckily  fancied  his  gulp  a 
Mere  repetition  of  0,  med  culpd ! ) 


THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  183 

"  Thrice  three  times  upon  Candlemas-day, 
Between  Vespers  and  Compline,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray 
Shall  run  round  the  Abbey,  as  best  he  may, 

Subjecting  his  back    To  thump  and  to  thwack, 
Well  and  truly  laid  on  by  a  barefooted  Friar, 
With  a  stout  cat-o'-nine-tails  of  whip-cord  and  wire ; 
And  nor  he,  nor  his  heir,    Shall  take,  use,  or  bear 
Any  more,  from  this  day,    The  surname  of  Bray, 
As  being  dishonour'd ;  but  all  issue  male  he  has 
Shall,  with  himself,  go  henceforth  by  an  alias ! 
So  his  qualms  of  conscience  at  length  may  cease, 
And  Page,  Dame,  and  Prior  shall  rest  in  peace ! " 

Sir  Ingoldsby  (now  no  longer  Bray) 
Is  off  like  a  shot  away  and  away, 

Over  the  brine    To  far  Palestine, 
To  rummage  and  hunt  over  Ascalon  plain 
For  the  unburied  bones  of  his  victim  slain. 

"  Look  out,  my  Squire,    Look  higher  and  nigher, 
Look  out  for  the  corpse  of  a  bare-footed  Friar ! 
And  pick  up  the  arms  and  the  legs  of  the  dead, 
And  pick  up  his  body,  and  pick  up  his  head ! " 

FYTTE  IIL 

Ingoldsby  Abbey  is  fair  to  see, 

It  hath  manors  a  dozen,  and  royalties  three, 

With  right  of  free  warren  (whatever  that  be) ; 

Rich  pastures  in  front,  and  green  woods  in  the  rear, 

All  in  full  leaf  at  the  right  time  of  year ; 

About  Christmas,  or  so,  they  fall  into  the  sear, 

And  the  prospect,  of  course,  becomes  rather  more  drear  : 

But  it's  really  delightful  in  spring-time, — and  near 

The  great  gate  Father  Thames  rolls  sun-bright  and  clear  ; 

Cobham  woods  to  the  right, — on  the  opposite  shore 

Laindon  Hills  in  the  distance,  ten  miles  off  or  more  ; 

Then  you've  Milton  and  Gravesend  behind, — and  before 

You  can  see  almost  all  the  way  down  to  the  Nore. 

So  charming  a  spot    It's  rarely  one's  lot 
To  see,  and  when  seen  it's  as  rarely  forgot. 


184  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Yes,  Ingoldsby  Abbey  is  fair  to  see,  ; 

And  its  Monks  and  its  Nuns  are  fifty  and  three, 

And  there  they  all  stand  each  in  their  degree, 

Drawn  up  in  the  front  of  their  sacred  abode, 

Two  by  two  in  their  regular  mode, 

While  a  funeral  comes  down  the  Rochester  road. 

Palmers  twelve,  from  a  foreign  strand, 

Cockle  in  hat,  and  staff  in  hand, 

Come  marching  in  pairs,  a  holy  band  ! 

Little  boys  twelve,  dress'd  all  in  white, 

Each  with  his  brazen  censer  bright, 

And  singing  away  with  all  their  might, 

Follow  the  Palmers — a  goodly  sight ; 
Next  high  in  air    Twelve  Yeomen  bear 

On  their  sturdy  necks,  with  a  good  deal  of  care, 

A  patent  sarcophagus  firmly  rear'd, 

Of  Spanish  mahogany  (not  veneer'd), 

And  behind  walks  a  Knight  with  a  very  long  beard. 
Close  by  his  side    Is  a  Friar,  supplied 

With  a  stout  cat-o'-nine-tails  of  tough  cow-hide, 

While  all  sorts  of  queer  men    Bring  up  the  rear — Men- 
-at-Arms,  Nigger  captives,  and  Bow-men,  and  Spear-men. 


It  boots  not  to  tell    What  youTI  guess  very  well, 
How  some  sang  the  requiem,  some  toll'd  the  bell ; 

Suffice  it  to  say,    'Twaa  on  Candlemas-day 
The  procession  I  speak  about  reach'd  the  Sacellvm ; 

And  in  lieu  of  a  supper    The  Knight  on  his  crupj  • 
Received  the  first  taste  of  the  Father's  flagellwn ; 

That,  as  chronicles  tell,    He  continued  to  dwell 
All  the  rest  of  his  days  in  the  Abbey  he'd  founded, 
By  the  pious  of  both  sexes  ever  surrounded, 
And,  partaking  the  fare  of  the  Monks  and  the  Nuns, 
Ate  the  cabbage  alone,  without  touching  the  buns  ; 
— That  year  after  year,  having  run  round  the  Quad 
"With  his  back,  as  enjoin'd  him,  exposed  to  the  rod, 
Having  not  only  kiss'd  it,  but  bless'd  it,  and  thank'd  it,  he 
Died,  as  all  thought,  in  the  odour  of  sanctity  ; 
When, — strange  to  relate !  and  you'll  hardly  believe 
What  I'm  going  to  tell  you, — next  Candlemas  Eve 


THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  185 

The  Monks  and  the  Nuns  in  the  dead  of  the  night 
Tumble,  all  of  them,  out  of  their  beds  in  affright, 

Alarm'd  by  the  bawls,    And  the  calls,  and  the  equal1 
Of  some  one  who  seem'd  running  all  round  the  walls ! 

Looking  out,  soon,    By  the  light  of  the  moon, 
There  appears  most  distinctly  to  ev'ry  one's  view, 
And  making,  as  seems  to  them,  all  this  ado, 
The  form  of  a  Knight  with  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 
As  black  as  if  steep'd  in  that  "  Matchless  !  "  of  Hunt's, 
And  so  bushy,  it  would  not  disgrace  Mr.  Muntz  ; 
A  bare-footed  Friar  stands  behind  him,  and  shakes 
A  flageUum,,  whose  lashes  appear  to  be  snakes  ; 
While  more  terrible  still,  the  astounded  beholders 
Perceive  the  said  Friar  has  NO  HEAD  ON  HIS  SHOULDERS, 

But  is  holding  his  pate    In  his  left  hand,  out  straight, 
As  if  by  a  closer  inspection  to  find 
Where  to  get  the  best  cut  at  his  victim  behind, 
With  the  aid  of  a  small  "  bull's-eye  lantern,"—  as  placed 
By  our  own  New  Police, — in  a  belt  round  bis  waist 

All  gaze  with  surprise,    Scarce  believing  their  eyes, 
When  the  Knight  makes  a  start  like  a  race-horse,  and  flies 
From  his  headless  tormentor,  repeating  his  cries, — 
In  vain, — for  the  Friar  to  his  skirts  closely  sticks, 
"  Kunning  after  him," — so  said  the  Abbot, — "  like  Bricks  !  ' 

Thrice  three  times  did  the  Phantom  Knight 
Course  round  the  Abbey  as  best  he  might, 
Be-thwack'd  and  be-smack'd  by  the  headless  Sprite, 
While  his  shrieks  so  piercing  made  all  hearts  thrill, — 
Then  a  whoop  and  a  halloo,— and  all  was  still ! 

Ingoldsby  Abbey  has  passed  away, 

And  at  this  time  of  day    One  can  hardly  survey 
Any  traces  or  track,  save  a  few  ruins,  grey 
With  age,  and  fast  mouldering  into  decay, 
Of  the  structure  once  built  by  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  ; 
But  still  there  are  many  folks  living  who  say 
That  on  every  Candlemas  Eve,  the  Knight, 

Accoutred  and  dight    In  his  armour  bright, 
With  his  thick  black  beard, — and  the  clerical  Sprite, 
With  his  head  in  his  hand,  and  his  lantern  alight, 


186  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Run  round  the  spot  where  the  old  Abbey  stood, 

And  are  seen  in  the  neighbouring  glebe-land  and  wood  : 

More  especially  still,  if  it's  stormy  and  windy, 

You  may  hear  them  for  miles  kicking  up  their  wild  shindy, 

And  that  once  in  a  gale    Of  wind,  sleet,  and  hail, 
They  frighten'd  the  horses,  and  upset  the  mail 

What  'tis  breaks  the  rest    Of  these  souls  unblest 
Would  now  be  a  thing  rather  hard  to  be  guess'd, 
Though  some  say  the  Squire,  on  his  death-bed,  confess'd 

That  on  Ascalon  plain,    When  the  bones  of  the  slain 
Were  collected  that  day,  and  pack'd  up  in  a  chest 

Caulk'd  and  made  water-tight, 

By  command  of  the  Knight, 

Though  the  legs  and  the  arms  they'd  got  all  pretty  right, 
And  the  body  itself  in  a  decentish  plight, 
Yet  the  Friar's  Pericranium  was  nowhere  in  sight ; 
So,  to  save  themselves  trouble,  they  pick'd  up  instead, 
And  popp'd  on  the  shoulders  a  Saracen's  Head  ! 
Thus  the  Knight  in  the  terms  of  his  penance  had  fail'd, 
And  the  Pope's  absolution,  of  course,  nought  avail'd. 

Now  though  this  might  be,    It  don't  seem  to  agree 
With  one  thing  which,  I  own,  is  a  poser  to  me, — 
I  mean,  as  the  miracles  wrought  at  the  shrine 
Containing  the  bones  brought  from  far  Palestine 
Were  so  great  and  notorious,  'tis  hard  to  combine 
This  fact  with  the  reason  these  people  assign, 
Or  suppose  that  the  head  of  the  murder'd  Divine 
Could  be  aught  but  what  Yankees  would  call  "  genu-ina. 
Tis  a  very  nice  question — but  be  't  as  it  may, 
The  Ghost  of  Sir  Ingoldsby  (ci-devant  Bray), 
It  is  boldly  affirm'd  by  the  folks  great  and  small 
About  Milton,  and  Chalk,  and  around  Cobham  Hall, 
Still  on  Candlemas-day  haunts  the  old  ruin'd  wall, 
And  that  many  have  seen  him,  and  more  heard  him  squall 
So,  I  think,  when  the  facts  of  the  case  you  recall, 
My  inference,  reader,  you'll  fairly  forestall, 

Viz.  :  that,  spite  of  the  hope    Held  out  by  the  Pope, 
Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  was  d — d  after  all  J 


THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE.  187 

MORAL. 

Foot-pages,  and  Servant's  of  ev'ry  degree, 
In  livery  or  out  of  it,  listen  to  me ! 
See  what  comes  of  lying !  don't  join  in  a  league 
To  humbug  your  master,  or  aid  an  intrigue ! 

Ladies ! — married  and  single,  from  this  understand 

How  foolish  it  is  to  send  letters  by  hand ! 

Don't  stand  for  the  sake  of  a  penny, — but  when  you 

've  a  billet  to  send    To  a  lover  or  friend, 
Put  it  into  the  post,  and  don't  cheat  the  revenue ! 

Rev'rend  gentlemen ! — you  who  are  given  to  roam, 
Don't  keep  up  a  soft  correspondence  at  home  ! 
But  while  you're  abroad  lead  respectable  lives  ; 
Love  your  neighbours,  and  welcome, — but  dont  love  their 

wives! 

And,  as  bricklayers  cry  from  the  tiles  and  the  leads 
When  they're  shovelling  the  snow  off,  "  TAKE  CARE  OF  YOUR 
HEADS ! " 

Knights ! — whose  hearts  are  so  stout,  and  whose  arms  are  so 

strong, 

Learn, — to  twist  a  wife's  neck  is  decidedly  wrong ! 
If  your  servants  offend  you  or  give  themselves  airs, 
Rebuke  them — but  mildly — don't  kick  them  downstairs ! 
To  "  Poor  Richard's  "  homely  old  proverb  attend, 
"  If  you  want  matters  well-managed,  Go ! — if  not,  Send  '•  " 
A  servant's  too  often  a  negligent  elf ; 
— If  it's  business  of  consequence,  Do  IT  YOURSELF  ! 

The  state  of  society  seldom  requires 
People  now  to  bring  home  with  them  unburied  Friars, 
But  they  sometimes  do  bring  home  an  inmate  for  life ; 
Now — don't  do  that  by  proxy ! — but  choose  your  own  wife  ! 
For  think  how  annoying  'twould  be  when  you're  wed, 

To  find  in  your  bed,    On  the  pillow,  instead 
Of  the  sweet  face  you  look  for— A  SARACEN'S  HEAD  1 


GL 


188  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


A    LEGEND   OF    HAMPSHIRE. 

I  SAW  thee,  Netley,  as  the  sun 
Across  the  western  wave 

Was  sinking  slow,    And  a  golden  glow 
To  thy  roofless  towers  he  gave  ; 

And  the  ivy  sheen,    With  its  mantle  of  green, 
That  wrapt  thy  walls  around, 

Shone  lovelily  bright,    In  that  glorious  light, 
And  I  felt  'twas  holy  ground. 

Then  I  thought  of  the  ancient  time  — 
The  days  of  the  Monks  of  old,  — 
When  to  Matin  and  Vesper,  and  Compline  chime, 

The  loud  Hosanna  roll'd, 

And  thy  courts,  and  "  long-drawn  aisles  "  among, 
SwelTd  the  full  tide  of  sacred  song. 

And  then  a  vision  pass'd 

Across  my  mental  eye  ; 
And  silver  shrines,  and  shaven  crowns, 
And  delicate  Ladies,  in  bombazeen  gowns, 

And  long  white  veils,  went  by  ; 
Stiff,  and  staid,  and  solemn,  and  sad,  — 
—  But  one,  methought,  wink'd  at  the  Gardener-lad  ! 

Then  came  the  Abbot,  with  mitre  and  ring, 
And  pastoral  staff,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
And  a  Monk  with  a  book,  and  a  Monk  with  a  bell, 

And  "  dear  little  souls,"    In  clean  linen  stoles, 
Swinging  their  censers,  and  making  a  smell,  — 
And  see  where  the  Choir-master  walks  in  the  rear, 

With  front  severe,    And  brow  austere, 
Now  and  then  pinching  a  little  boy's  ear 
When  he  chaunts  the  responses  too  late,  or  too  soon, 
Or  his  Do,  Re,  Mi,  Fa,  Sol,  La's  not  quite  in  tune. 

(Then  you  know,    They'd  a  "  movable  Do," 
Not  a  fix'd  one  as  now  —  and  of  course  never  knew 
How  to  set  up  a  musical  Hullah-baloo.) 
It  was,  in  sooth,  a  comely  sight, 
And  I  welcomed  the  vision  with  pure  delight. 


NETLEY  ABBEY.  189 

But  then  "  a  change  came  o'er  " 
My  spirit — a  change  of  fear — 

That  gorgeous  scene  I  beheld  no  more, 

But  deep  beneath  the  basement  floor 

A  dungeon  dark  and  drear ! 
And  there  was  an  ugly  hole  in  the  wall — 
For  an  oven  too  big, — for  a  cellar  too  small ! 

And  mortar  and  bricks    All  ready  to  fix, 
And  I  said,  "  Here's  a  Nun  has  been  playing  some  tricks  !~ 
That  horrible  hole ! — it  seems  to  say, 
'  I'm  a  grave  that  gapes  for  a  living  prey ! ' " 
And  my  heart  grew  sick,  and  my  brow  grew  sad — 
And  I  thought  of  that  wink  at  the  Gardener-lad. 

Ah  me  !  ah  me ! — 'tis  sad  to  think 

That  Maiden's  eye,  which  was  made  to  wink, 

Should  be  here  compell'd  to  grow  blear  and  blink, 
Or  be  closed  for  aye    In  this  kind  of  way, 

Shut  out  for  ever  from  wholesome  day, 

Wall'd  up  in  a  hole  with  never  a  chink, 

No  light, — no  air, — no  victuals, — no  drink  !— 
And  that  Maiden's  lip,    Which  was  made  to  sip, 

Should  here  grow  withered  and  dry  as  a  chip  ! 

— That  wandering  glance  and  furtive  kiss, 

Exceedingly  naughty,  and  wrong,  I  wis, 

Should  yet  be  considered  so  much  amiss 

As  to  call  for  a  sentence  severe  as  this  ! — 

And  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  heard  with  a  sigh, 

The  poor  lone  victim's  stifled  cry, 

"  Well,  I  can't  understand    How  any  man's  hand 
Could  wall  up  that  hole  in  a  Christian  land ! 

Why  a  Mussulman  Turk 

Would  recoil  from  the  work, 

And  though  when  his  Ladies  run  after  the  fellows,  he 
Stands  not  on  trifles,  if  madden'd  by  jealousy, 
Its  objects,  I'm  sure,  would  declare,  could  they  speak, 
In  their  Georgian,  Circassian,  or  Turkish,  or  Greek, 
'  When  all's  said  and  done,  far  better  it  was  for  us, 
Tied  back  to  back,    And  sown  up  in  a  sack, 
To  be  pitch'd  neck  and  beels  from  a  boat  in  the  Bosphorus  ! ' 

— Oh !  a  Saint  'twould  vex    To  think  that  the  sex 
Should  be  treated  no  better  than  Combe's  double  X  ! 


190  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Sure  some  one  might  run  to  the  Abbess,  and  tell  her 
A  much  better  method  of  stocking  her  cellar." 

If  ever  on  polluted  walk 

Heaven's  red  right  arm  in  vengeance  falls, — 

If  e'er  its  justice  wraps  in  flame 

The  black  abodes  of  sin  and  shame, 

That  justice,  in  its  own  good  time, 

Shall  visit  for  so  foul  a  crime, 

Ope  desolation's  floodgate  wide, 

And  blast  thee,  Netley,  in  thy  pride  ! 

Lo  where  it  comes  ! — the  tempest  lours, — 

It  bursts  on  thy  devoted  towers  ; 

Ruthless  Tudor's  bloated  form 

Hides  on  the  blast  and  guides  the  storm ; 

I  hear  the  sacrilegious  cry, 

"  Down  with  the  nests,  and  the  rooks  will  fly ! " 

Down !  down  they  come — a  fearful  fall — 
Arch,  and  pillar,  and  roof -tree,  and  all, 
Stained  pane,  and  sculptured  stone, 
There  they  lie  on  the  greensward  strown — 
Mouldering  walls  remain  alone. 

Shaven  crown,    Bombazeen  gown, 
Mitre,  and  Crozier,  and  all  are  flown ! 

And  yet,  fair  Netley,  as  I  gaze 
Upon  that  grey  and  mouldering  wall, 

The  glories  of  thy  palmy  days 
Its  very  stones  recall ! 

They  "  come  like  shadows,  so  depart " — 

I  see  thee  as  thou  wert — and  art — 

Sublime  in  ruin ! — grand  in  woe ! 

Lone  refuge  of  the  owl  and  bat ; 
No  voice  awakes  thine  echoes  now  ! 
No  sound — Good  Gracious ! — what  was  that  ? 

Was  it  the  moan,    The  parting  groan 
Of  her  who  died  forlorn  and  alone, 
Embedded  in  mortar,  and  bricks,  and  stone  1 — 
Full  and  clear    On  my  listening  ear 


NETLEY  ABBEY.  191 

It  comes — again — near,  and  more  near — 
Why  'zooks  1  it's  the  popping  of  Ginger  Beer ! 

— I  rush'd  to  the  door —    I  tread  the  floor, 
By  Abbots  and  Abbesses  trodden  before, 
In  the  good  old  chivalric  days  of  yore, 

And  what  see  I  there  ?—    In  a  rush-bottom'd  chair 
A  hag  surrounded  by  crockery- ware, 
Vending,  in  cups,  to  the  credulous  throng, 
A  nasty  decoction  miscall'd  Souchong, — 
And  a  squeaking  fiddle  and  wry-neck'd  fife 
Are  screeching  away,  for  the  life  ! — for  the  life  1 
Danced  to  by  "  All  the  World  and  his  Wife." 
Tag,  Rag,  and  Bobtail,  are  capering  there, 
Worse  scene,  I  ween,  than  Bartlemy  Fair  ! — 
Two  or  three  Chimney-sweeps,  two  or  three  Clowns, 
Playing  at  "  pitch  and  toss,"  sport  their  "  Browns," 
Two  or  three  damsels,  frank  and  free, 
Are  ogling,  and  smiling,  and  sipping  Bohea, 
Parties  below,  and  parties  above, 
Some  making  tea,  and  some  making  love. 

Then  the  "  toot— toot— toot " 

Ol  that  vile  demi-flute, — 

The  detestable  din    Of  that  crack'd  violin, 
And  the  odours  of  "  Stout,"  and  tobacco,  and  gin. 
" — Dear  me  ! "  I  exclaim'd,  "  what  a  place  to  be  in !  " 
And  I  said  to  the  person  who  drove  my  "  shay  " 
(A  very  intelligent  man,  by  the  way), 
"  This  all  things  consider'd  is  rather  too  gay  ! 
It  don't  suit  my  humour, — so  take  me  away  ! 
Dancing  !  and  drinking  1 — cigar  and  song ! 
If  not  profanation,  it's  "  coming  it  strong," 
And  I  really  consider  it  all  very  wrong. — 
— Pray,  to  whom  does  this  property  now  belong  1 " 

— He  paused,  and  said,    Scratching  his  head, 
"Why  I  really  do  think  he's  a  little  to  blame, 
But  I  can't  say  I  knows  the  gentleman's  name  ! " 

"  Well— well ! "  quoth  I,    As  I  heaved  a  sigh, 
And  a  tear-drop  fell  from  my  twinkling  eye, 
"  My  vastly  good  man,  as  I  scarcely  doubt 
That  some  day  or  other  you'll  find  it  out, 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Should  he  come  in  your  way, 

Or  ride  in  your  '  shay ' 

(As  perhaps  he  may),    Be  so  good  as  to  say 
That  a  Visitor,  whom  you  drove  over  one  day, 
Was  exceedingly  angry,  and  very  much  scandalised, 
Finding  these  beautiful  ruins  so  Vandalised, 
And  thus  of  their  owner  to  speak  began, 
As  he  ordered  you  home  in  haste, 

'  No  DOUBT  HE'S  A  VERY  RESPECTABLE  MAN, 

But — I  can't  say  much  for  his  taste.'  " 


^fragment, 

A  PEELING  sad  came  o'er  me  as  I  trod  the  sacred  ground 

Where  Tudors  and  Plantagenets  were  lying  all  around  : 

I  stepp'd  with  noiseless  foot,  as  though  the  sound  of  mortal 

tread 
Might  burst  the  bands  of  the  dreamless  sleep  that  wraps  the 

mighty  dead ! 

The  slanting  ray  of  the  evening  sun  shone  through  those 

cloisters  pale, 

With  fitful  light  on  regal  vest,  and  warriors  sculptured  mail, 
As  from  the  stain'd  and  storied  pane  it  danced  with  quivering 

gleam, 
Each  cold  and  prostrate  form  below  seem'd  quickening  in  the 

beam. 

Now,  sinking  low,  no  more  was  heard  the  organ's  solemn 

swell, 

And  faint  upon  the  listening  ear  the  last  Hosanna  fell : 
It  died — and  not  a  breath  did  stir; — above  each  knightly 

stall, 

Unmoved,  the  banner'd  blazonry  hung  waveless  as  a  pall 
I  stood  alone! — &  living  thing  'midst   those   that  were   no 

more — 

T  thought  on  ages  past  and  gone — the  glorious  deeds  of  yore  — 
On  Edward's  sable  panoply,  on  Cressy's  tented  plain, 
The  fatal  Roses  twined  at  length — on  great  Eliza's  reign. 


NELL   COOK.  193 

I  thought  on  Naseby — Marston  Moor — on  Worc'ster's  "  crown- 
ing fight ; " 

When  on  mine  ear  a  sound  there  fell — it  chill'd  me  with 
affright, 

As  thus  in  low,  unearthly  tones  I  heard  a  voice  begin, 

"  — This  here's  the  Cap  of  Giniral  Monk  ! — Sir  !  please  put 
summut  in ! " 


Caofe, 

A  LEGEND  OP  THE  "DARK  ENTRY." 
THE    KING'S    SCHOLAR'S    STORY. 

"  From  the  '  Brick  Walk  '  branches  off  to  the  right  a  long  narrow 
vaulted  passage,  paved  with  flagstones,  vulgarly  known  by  the  name  of 
the  'Dark  Entry.'  Its  eastern  extremity  communicates  with  the 
cloisters,  crypt,  and,  by  a  private  staircase,  with  the  interior  of  the 
cathedral.  On  the  west  it  opens  into  the  '  Green  Court,'  forming  a  com- 
munication between  it  and  the  portion  of  the  'Precinct'  called  the 
'  Oaks. ' " — A  Walk  round  Canterbury,  &c. 

Scene — A  back  parlour  in  Mr.  John  Ingoldsby's  house  in  the 
Precinct. — A  blazing  fire. — Mine  Uncle  is  seated  in  a  high- 
backed  easy-chair,  twirling  his  thumbs,  and  contemplating 
his  list  shoe. — Little  Tom,  the  "  King's  Scholar,"  on  a  stool 
opposite. — Mrs.  John  Ingoldsby  at  the  table,  busily  employed 
in  manufacturing  a  cabbage-rose  (cauliflower?)  in  many- 
coloured  worsteds. — Mine  Uncle's  meditations  are  interrupted 
by  the  French  clock  on  the  mantel-piece.  He  prologizeth 
with  vivacity. 

"  HARK  !  listen,  Mrs.  Ingoldsby, — the  clock  is  striking  nine ! 
Give  Master  Tom  another  cake,  and  half  a  glass  of  wine, 
And  ring  the  bell  for  Jenny  Smith,  and  bid  her  bring  his  coat, 
And  a  warm  bandana  handkerchief  to  tie  about  his  throat 

"  Arid  bid  them  go  the  nearest  way,  for  Mr.  Birch  has  said 
That  nine  o'clock's  the  hour  he'll  have  his  boarders  all  in  bed ; 
And  well  we  know  when  little  boys  their  coming  home  delay, 
They  often  seem  to  walk  and  sit  uneasily  next  day 
G 


194  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

" — Now  nay,  dear  Uncle  Ingoldsby,  now  send  me  not,  I  pray, 
Back  by  that  Entry  dark,  for  that  you  knoVs  the  nearest  way ; 
I  dread  that  Entry  dark  with  Jane  alone  at  such  an  hour, 
It  fears  me  quite — it's  Friday  night ! — and  then  Nell  Cook  hath 
'  powV!" 

"And,  who's  Nell  Cook,  thou  silly  child  1— and  what's  Nell 

Cook  to  thee  ? 
That  thou  shouldst  dread  at  night  to  tread  with  Jane  that  dark 

entrW 
— "  Nay,  list  and  hear,  mine  Uncle  dear  !  such  fearsome  things 

they  tell 
Of  Nelly  Cook,  that  few  may  brook  at  night  to  meet  with 

Nell! 

"  It  was  in  bluff  King  Harry's  days, — and  Monks  and  Friars 

were  then, 

You  know,  dear  Uncle  Ingoldsby,  a  sort  of  Clergymen. 
They'd  coarse  stuff  gowns,  and  shaven  crowns,— no  shirts, — and 

no  cravats, 
And  a  cord  was  placed  about  their  waist — they  had  no  shovel 

hats! 

"It  was  in  bluff  King  Harry's  days,  while  yet  he  went  to 

shrift, 
And  long  before  he  stamp'd  and  swore,  and  cut  the  Pope 

adrift ; 

There  lived  a  portly  Canon  then,  a  sage  and  learned  clerk  ; 
He  had,  I  trow,  a  goodly  house,  fast  by  that  Entry  dark  ! 

"  The  Canon  was  a  portly  man — of  Latin  and  of  Greek, 

And  learned  lore,  he  had  good  store,— yet  health  was  on  his 

cheek. 
The  Priory  fare  was  scant  and  spare,  the  bread  was  made  of 

rye, 
The  beer  was  weak,  yet  he  was  sleek — he  had  a  merry  eye. 

"  For  though  within  the  Priory  the  fare  was  scant  and  thin, 
The  Canon's  house  it  stood  without; — he  kept  good   cheer 

within  ; 

Unto  the  best  he  prest  each  guest  with  free  and  jovial  look, 
And  Ellen  Bean    ruled  his  cuisine. — He  called    her  'Nelly 

Cook.' 


NELL  COOK.  195 

"  For  soups,  and  stews,  and  choice  ragouts,  Nell  Cook  was 

famous  still ! 
She'd  make  them  even  of  old  shoes,  she  had  such  wondrous 

.  skill: 
Her  manchets  fine  were  quite  divine,  her  cakes  were  nicely 

brown'd, 
Her  boil'd  and  roast,  they  were  the  boast  of  all  the  '  Precinct ' 

round ; 

"  And  Nelly  was  a  comely  lass,  but  calm  and  staid  her  air, 
And  earthward  bent  her  modest  look — yet  was  she  passing 

fair  j 
And  though  her  gown  was  russet  brown,  their  heads  grave 

people  shook : 
—They  all  agreed  no  Clerk  had  need  of  such  a  pretty  Cook. 

"  One  day,  'twas  on  a  Whitsun-Eve — there  came  a  coach  and 

four ; — 
It  pass'd    the  'Green-Court'    gate,  and  stopp'd  before  the 

Canon's  door ; 

The  travel-stain  on  wheel  and  rein  bespoke  a  weary  way, — 
Each  panting  steed  relax'd  its  speed — out  stept  a  Lady  gay. 

" '  Now,  welcome  !  welcome !  dearest  Niece ! ' — the  Canon  then 

did  cry, 

And  to  his  breast  the  Lady  prest — he  had  a  merry  eye, — 
'  Now,'  w'elcome !  welcome  !  dearest  Niece !   in  sooth,  thou'rt 

welcome  here,  f 

Tis  many  a  day  since  we  have  met — how  fares jny  Brother 

dear  1  '— 

" '  Now  thanks,  my  loving  Uncle,'  that  Lady  gay  replied  : 
'  Gramercy  for  thy  benison  ! ' — then  '  Out,  alas  ! '  she  sigh'dj 
'  My  father  dear  he  is  not  near ;  he  seeks  the  Spanish  Main  ; 
He  prays  thee  give  me  shelter  here  till  he  return  again  ! ' 

" '  Now,  welcome  !  welcome !  dearest  Niece ;  come  lay  thy 

mantle  by ! ' 

The  Canon  kiss'd  her  ruby  lip — he  had  a  merry  eye, — 
But  Nelly  Cook  askew  did  look, — it  came  into  her  mind 
They  were  a  little    less  than  'kin,'  and  rather  more  than 

'kind.' 


196  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

"  Three  weeks  are  gone  and  over — full  three  weeks  and  a  day, 
Yet  still  within  the  Canon's  house  doth  dwell  that  Lady  gay  ; 
On  capons  fine  they  daily  dine,  rich  cates  and  sauces  rare, 
And  they  quaff  good  store  of  Bordeaux  wine, — so  dainty  is 
their  fare. 

M  And  fine  upon  the  virginals  is  that  gay  Lady's  touch, 
And  sweet  her  voice  unto  the  lute,  you'll  scarce  hear  any  such ; 
But  is  it '  0  Sanctissima  / '  she  sings  in  dulcet  tone  1 
Or  '  Angels   ever  bright  and  fair  ? ' — Ah,  no  ! — it's  '  Bobbing 
Joan ! ' 


"  The  Canon's  house  is  lofty,  and  spacious  to  the  view  ; 

The  Canon's  cell  is  order'd  well — yet  Nelly  looks  askew  ; 

The  Lady's  bower  is  in  the  tower, — yet  Nelly  shakes  her 

head — 
She  hides  the  poker  and  the  tongs  in  that  gay  Lady's  bed ! 


"  Six  weeks  were  gone  and  over — full  six  weeks  and  a  day, 
Yet  in  that  bed  the  poker  and  the  tongs  unheeded  lay ! 
From  which,  I  fear,  it's  pretty  clear  that  Lady  rest  had  none  ; 
Or,  if  she  slept  in  any  bed — it  was  not  in  her  own. 

"  But  where  that  Lady  pass'd  her  night,  I  may  not  well  divine, 
Perhaps  in  pious  orisons  at  good  St.  Thomas'  Shrine, 
And  for  her  father  far  away  breathed  tender  vows  and  true — 
It  may  be  so — I  cannot  say — But  Nelly  look'd  askew. 

"  And  still  at  night,  by  fair  moonlight,  when  all  were  lock'd  in 

sleep, 
She'd  listen  at  the  Canon's  door, — she'd  through  the  keyhole 

peep — 

I  know  not  what  she  heard  or  saw,  but  fury  fill'd  her  eye — 
— She  bought  some  nasty  Doctor's  stuff,  and  she  put  it  in  a 

pie! 


"  It  was  a  glorious  summer's  eve — with  beams  of  rosy  red, 
The  Sun  went  down — all  Nature  smiled — but  Nelly  shook  her 

head  ! 

Full  softly  to  the  balmy  breeze  rang  out  the  Vesper  bell — 
—Upon  the  Canon's  startled  ear  it  sounded  like  a  knell ! 


NELL  COOK.  197 

*  *  Now,  here's  to  thee,  mine  Uncle !  a  health  I  drink  to  thee ! 
Now,  pledge  me  back  in  Sherris  sack,  or  a  cup  of  Malvoisie  ! '  — 
The  Canon  sigh'd — but,  rousing,  cried,  '  I  answer  to  thy  call, 
And  a  Warden-pie's  a  dainty  dish  to  mortify  withal ! ' 

"Tis  early  dawn — the  matin  chime  rings  out  for  morning 

pray'r — 

And  Prior  and  Friar  is  in  his  stall — the  Canon  is  not  there  ! 
Nor  in  the  small  Refect'ry  hall,  nor  cloister'd  walk  is  he — 
All  wonder — and  the  Sacristan  says,  '  Lauk-a-daisy-me  ! ' 

M  They've  search'd  the  aisles  and  Baptistry — they've  sear<;h'd 

above — around — 
The  'Sermon  House' — the  'Audit  Room'  —  the  Canon  is 

not  found. 

They  only  find  that  pretty  Cook  concocting  a  ragout, 
They  ask  her  where  her  master  is — but  Nelly  looks  askew. 

"They  call  for  crow-bars  —  'jemmies'  is  the  modern   name 

they  bear — 
They  burst  through  lock,  and  bolt,  and  bar — but  what  a  sight 

is  there ! — 

The  Canon's  head  lies  on  the  bed — his  Niece  lies  on  the  floor  ! 
— They  are  as  dead  as  any  nail  that  is  in  any  door ! 

"  The  livid  spot  is  on  his  breast,  the  spot  is  on  his  back ! 

His  portly  form,  no  longer  warm  with  life,  is  swoln  and 

black  !— 

The  livid  spot  is  on  her  cheek, — it's  on  her  neck  of  snow, 
And  the  Prior  sighs,  and  sadly  cries,  'Well,  here's  a  pretty 

Go!' 


"  All  at  the  silent  hour  of  night  a  bell  is  heard  to  toll, 
A  knell  is  rung,  a  requiem  's  sung  as  for  a  sinful  soul, 
And  there's  a  grave  within  the  Nave ;  it's  dark,  and  deep,  and 

wide, 
And  they  bury  there  a  Lady  fair,  and  a  Canon  by  her  side ! 

"An  Uncle — so  'tis  whisper'd    now  throughout   the    sacred 

Fane, — 
And   a   Niece — whose   father's   far  away  upon  the  Spanish 

Main. — 


198  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  Sacristan,  he  says  no  word  that  indicates  a  doubt, 
But  he  puts  his  thumb  unto  his  nose,  and  spreads  his  fingers 
out! 

"And  where  doth  tarry  Nelly  Cook,  that  staid  and  comely 

lass? 
Ay,  where  1— for  ne'er  from  forth  that  door' was  'Nelly  known 

to  pass. 

Her  coif  and  gown  of  russet  brown  were  lost  unto  the  view, 
And  if  you  mention'd  Nelly's  name— the  Monks  allj  look'd 

askew  ! 


"  There  is  a  heavy  paving-stone  fast  by  the  Canon's  door, 
Of  granite  grey,  and  it  may  weigh  some  half  a  ton  or  more, 
And  it  is  laid  deep  in  the  shade  within  that  Entry  dark, 
Where  sun  or  moon-beam  never  play'd,  or  e'en  one  starry 
spark. 

"  That  heavy  granite  stone  was  moved  that  night,  'twas  darkly 

said, 
And  the  mortar  round  its  sides  next  morn  seem'd  fresh  and 

newly  laid, 
But  what  within  the  narrow  vault  beneath  that  stone  doth 

lie, 
Or  if  that  there  be  vault  or  no — I  cannot  tell — not  I ! 

"  But  I've  been  told  that  moan  and  groan,  and  fearful  wail 

and  shriek 

Came  from  beneath  that  paving-stone  for  nearly  half  a  week — 
For  three  long  days  and  three  long  nights  came  forth  those 

sounds  of  fear ; 
Then  all  was  o'er — they  never  more  fell  on  the  listening  ear. 


UA  hundred  years  have  gone  and  past  since  last  Nell  Cook 
was  seen, 

When  worn  by  use,  that  stone  got  loose,  and  they  went  and 
told  the  Dean. — 

— Says  the  Dean,  says  he,  '  My  Masons  three !  now  haste  and 
fix  it  tight ;' 

And  the  Masons  three  peep'd  down  to  see,  and  they  saw  a  fear- 
some sight. 


NELL  COOK.  199 

"Beneath   that  heavy  paving-stone   a    shocking   hole   they 

found — 
It  was  not  more  than  twelve  feet  deep,  and  barely  twelve  feet 

round ; 

— A  fleshless,  sapless  skeleton  lay  in  that  horrid  well ! 
But  who  the  deuce  'twas  put  it  there  those  Masons  could  not 

tell 

"  And  near  this  fleshless  skeleton  a  pitcher  small  did  lie, 

And  a  mouldy  piece  of  '  kissing-crust,'  as  from  a  Warden- 
pie! 

And  Dr.  Jones  declared  the  bones  were  female  bones,  and, 
'Zooks! 

I  should  not  be  surprised,'  said  he,  'If  these  were  Nelly 
Cook's!' 

"  It  was  in  good  Dean  Bargrave's  days,  if  I  remember  right, 

Those  fleshless  bones  beneath  the  stones  these  Masons  brought 
to  light ; 

And  you  may  well  in  the  '  Dean's  Chapelle '  Dean  Bargrave's 
portrait  view, 

'Who  died  one  night,'  says  old  Tom  Wright,  'in  sixteen 
forty-two ! ' 

"And  so  two  hundred  years  have  pass'd   since   that  these 

Masons  three, 

With  curious  looks,  did  set  Nell  Cook's  unquiet  spirit  free ; 
That  granite  stone  had  kept  her  down  till  then — so  some 

suppose, — 
—Some  spread  their  fingers  out,  and  put  their  thumb  unto 

their  nose. 

"  But  one  thing's  clear— that  all  the  year,  on  every  Friday 

night, 
Throughout  that  Entry  dark  doth  roam  Nell  Cook's  unquiet 

Sprite : 

On  Friday  was  that  Warden-pie  all  by  that  Canon  tried ; 
On  Friday  died  he,  and  that  tidy  Lady  by  his  side ! 

"  And  though  two  hundred  years  have  flown,  Nell  Cook  doth 

still  pursue 
Her  weary  walk,  and  they  who  cross  her  path  the  deed  may 

rue; 


200  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Her  fatal  breath  is  fell  as  death !  the  Simoom's  blast  is  not 
More  dire — (a  wind  in  Africa  that  blows  uncommon  hot). 

"  But  all  unlike  the  Simoom's  blast,  her  breath  is  deadly  cold, 
Delivering  quivering,  shivering  shocks  upon  both  young  and 

old, 

And  whoso  in  that  Entry  dark  doth  feel  that  fatal  breath, 
He  ever  dies  within  the  year  some  dire  untimely  death  ; 

"  No  matter  who — no  matter  what  condition,  age,  or  sex, 

But  some  '  get  shot,'  and  some  '  get  drown'd,'  and  some  '  get ' 

broken  necks ; 

Some  'get  run  over '  by  a  coach; — and  one  beyond  the  seas 
'  Got '  scraped  to  death  with  oyster -shells  among  the  Carib- 

bees  ! 

"Those    Masons  three,  who  set  her  free, — fell  first! — it  is 

averr"d 
That  two  were  hangM  on  Tyburn  tree  for  murdering  of  the 

third  : 
Charles  Storey,  too,  his  friend  who  slew,  had  ne'er,  if  truth 

they  tell, 
Been  gibbeted  on  Chatham  Downs,  had  they  not  met  with 

NeU! 

"Then  send  me  not,  mine  Uncle  dear,  oh!  send  me  not,  1 

pray, 
Back  through  that  Entry  dark  to-night,  but  round  some  other 

way ! 

I  will  not  be  a  truant  boy,  but  good,  and  mind  my  book, 
For  Heaven  forfend  that  ever  I  foregather  with  Nell  Cook ! " 


The  class  was  call'd  at  morning  tide,  and  Master  Tom  was 

there ; 
He  look'd  askew,  and  did  eschew  both  stool,  and  bench,  and 

chair. 

He  did  not  talk,  he  did  not  walk,  the  tear  was  in  his  eye, — 
He  had  not  e'en  that  sad  resource,  to  sit  him  down  and  cry. 

Hence  little  boys  may  learn,  when  they  from  schools  go  out 

to  dine, 
They  should  not  deal  in  rigmarole,  but  still  be  back  by  nine  ; 


NURSERY  REMINISCENCES.  201 

For  if  when  they've  their  great  coat  on,  they  pause,  before 

they  part, 
To  tell  a  long  arid  prosy  tale, — perchance  their  own  may 

smart 

MORAL. 

— A  few  remarks  to  learned  Clerks  in  country  and  in  town — 
Don't  keep  a  pretty  serving-maid,    though    clad    in    russet 

brown ! — 
Don't  let  your  Niece  sing  "  Bobbing  Joan  ! " — don't,  with  a 

merry  eye, 
Hob-nob  in  Sack  and  Malvoisie, — and  don't  eat  too  much 

pie! ! 

And  oh !  beware  that  Entry  dark, — Especially  at  night, — 

And  don't  go  there  with  Jenny  Smith  all  by  the  pale  moon- 
light! 

So  bless  the  Queen  and  her  Royal  Weans, — And  the  Prince 
whose  hand  she  took, — • 

And  bless  us  all,  both  great  and  small, — and  'keep  us  from 
Nell  Cook! 


I  REMEMBER,  I  remember, 

When  I  was  a  little  Boy, 
One  fine  morning  in  September 

Uncle  brought  me  home  a  toy. 

I  remember  how  he  patted 

Both  my  cheeks  in  kindliest  mood  ; 
"  Then,"  said  he,  "  you  little  Fat-head, 

There's  a  top  because  you're  good." 

Grandmamma — a  shrewd  observer — 

I  remember  gazed  upon 
My  new  top,  and  said  with  fervour, 

"  Oh !  how  kind  of  Uncle  John ! " 

While  mamma,  my  form  caressing, — 
In  her  eye  the  tear-drop  stood, 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Read  me  this  fine  moral  lesson, 
"  See  what  comes  of  being  good ! ' 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

On  a  wet  and  windy  day, 
One  cold  morning  in  December 

I  stole  out  and  went  to  play ; 

I  remember  Billy  Hawkins 
Came,  and  with  his  pewter  squirt 

Squibb'd  my  pantaloons  and  stockings, 
Till  they  were  all  over  dirt ! 

To  my  mother  for  protection 

I  ran,  quaking  every  limb ; 
— She  exclaim'd,  with  fond  affection, 

"  Gracious  Goodness !  look  at  him  !  "- 

Pa  cried,  when  he  saw  my  garment, 
— 'Twas  a  newly-purchased  dress — 

"  Oh  !  you  nasty  little  Warment, 
How  came  you  in  such  a  mess  1 " 

Then  he  caught  me  by  the  collar, 

— Cruel  only  to  be  kind — 
And  to  my  exceeding  dolour, 

Gave  me — several  slaps  behind. 

Grandmamma,  while  yet  I  smarted, 

As  she  saw  my  evil  plight, 
Said — 'twas  rather  stony-hearted — 

"  Little  rascal !  sarve  him  right ! " 

I  remember,  I  remember, 
From  that  sad  and  solemn  day, 

Never  more  in  dark  December 
Did  I  venture  out  to  play. 

And  the  moral  which  they  taught,  I 
Well  remember ;  thus  they  said — 

u  Little  Boys,  when  they  are  naughty, 
Must  be  whipp'd  and  sent  to  bed  ! " 


AUNT  FANNY.  203 

8imt  Jfannp, 

A    LEGEND    OP   A   SHIRT. 

Virginibus,  Puerisque  canto. — HOR. 
Old  Maids,  and  Bachelors  I  chant  to  !— T.  1. 

I  SING  of  a  Shirt  that  never  was  new ! 

In  the  course  of  the  year  Eighteen  hundred  and  two, 

Aunt  Fanny  began,    Upon  Grandmamma's  plan, 
To  make  one  for  me,  then  her  "  dear  little  man." — 
— At  the  epoch  I  speak  about,  I  was  between 

A  man  and  a  boy,    A  hobble-de-hoy, 
A  fat,  little,  punchy  concern  of  sixteen, — 

Just  beginning  to  flirt,    And  ogle, — so  pert, 
I'd  been  whipt  every  day  had  I  had  my  desert, 
— And  Aunt  Fan  volunteer'd  to  make  me  a  shirt ! 

I've  said  she  began  it, —    Some  unlucky  planet 
No  doubt  interfered, — for  before  she  and  Janet 
Completed  the  "  cutting  out,"  "  hemming,"  and  "  stitching, " 
A  tall  Irish  footman  appear'd  in  the  kitchen  ; — 

— This  took  off  the  maid,    And,  I'm  sadly  afraid, 
My  respected  Aunt  Fanny's  attention,  too,  stray*d  ; 
For,  about  the  same  period,  a  gay  son  of  Mars, 
Cornet  Jones  of  the  Tenth  (then  the  Prince's)  Hussars, 

With  his  fine  dark  eyelashes,    And  finer  moustaches, 
And  the  ostrich  plume  work'd  on  the  corps'  sabre-tasches 
(I  say  nought  of  the  gold-and-red  cord  of  the  sashes, 
Or  the  boots  far  above  the  Guards'  vile  spatterdashes), — 
So  eyed,  and  so  sigh'd,  and  so  lovingly  tried 
To  engage  her  whole  ear  as  he  lounged  by  her  side, 
Looking  down  on  the  rest  with  such  dignified  pride, 

That  she  made  up  her  mind,    She  should  certainly  find 
Cornet  Jones  at  her  feet,  whisp'ring,  "  Fan,  be  my  bride ! "— 
— She  had  even  resolved  to  say  "  Yes,"  should  he  ask  it 
— And  I — and  my  Shirt — were  both  left  in  the  basket. 

To  her  grief  and  dismay    She  discover'd  one  day 
Cornet  Jones  of  the  Tenth  was  a  little  too  gay ; 
For,  besides  that  she  saw  him — he  could  not  say  nay — 
Wink  at  one  of  the  actresses  capering  away 


204  THE  1NGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

In  a  Spanish  bolero,  one  night  at  the  play, 

She  found  he'd  already  a  wife  at  Cambray ; — 

One  at  Paris  — a  nymph  of  the  corps  de  ballet ; — 

And  a  third  down  in  Kent,  at  a  place  call'd  Foot's  Cray. — 

He  was  "  viler  than  dirt !  "-       Fanny  vow'd  to  exert 
All  her  powers  to  forget  him, — and  finish  my  Shirt. 

But,  oh !  lack-a-day !    How  time  slips  away ! — 
Who'd  have  thought  that  while  Cupid  was  playing  these  tricks, 
Ten  years  had  elapsed,  and — I'd  turn'd  twenty-six  ? 

"  I  care  not  a  whit,    He's  grown  not  a  bit," 
Says  my  Aunt,  "  it  will  still  be  a  very  good  fit," 

So  Janet  and  She,    Now  about  thirty-three 
(The  maid  had  been  jilted  by  Mr.  Magee), 
Each  taking  one  end  of  "  the  Shirt "  on  her  knee, 
Again  began  working  with  hearty  good  will, 
"  Felling  the  Seams,"  and  "  whipping  the  Frill,"— 
For,  twenty  years  since,  though  the  Ruffle  had  vanish'd. 
A  Frill  like  a  Fan  had  by  no  means  been  banish'd ; 
People  wore  them  at  playhouses,  parties,  and  churches, 
Like  overgrown  fins  of  overgrown  perches. 

Now,  then,  by  these  two  thus  laying  their  caps 
Together,  my  "  Shirt  "  had  been  finish'd,  perhaps, 
But  for  one  of  those  queer  little  three-corner'd  straps, 
Which  the  ladies  call  "Side-bits,"  that  sever  the  "  Flaps  ;  " 

— Here  unlucky  Janet,    Took  her  needle,  and  ran  it 
Right  into  her  thumb,  and  cried  loudly,  "  Ads  cuss  it ! 
I've  spoil'd  myself  now  by  that  'ere  nasty  Gusset ! " 

For  a  month  to  come    Poor  dear  Janet's  thumb 
Was  in  that  sort  of  state  vulgar  people  call  "  Rum." 

At  the  end  of  that  time,    A  youth,  still  in  his  prime, 
The  Doctor's  fat  Errand-boy,— j  ust  such  a  dolt  as  is 
Kept  to  mix  draughts,  and  spread  plasters  and  poultices, 
Who  a  bread-cataplasm  each  morning  had  carried  her, 
Sigh'd, — ogled, — proposed, — was  accepted, — and  married  her  ! 

Much  did  Aunt  Fan    Disapprove  of  the  plan  ; 
She  turn'd  up  her  dear  little  snub  at  "  the  Man." 

She  "  could  not  believe  it," —    "  Could  scarcely  conceive  it 
Was  possible — What!  such  a  place  ! — aoid  then  leave  it  1 — 


AUNT  FANNY.  2fV5 

And  all  for  a  '  Shrimp '  not  as  high  as  my  hat— 

A  little  contemptible  '  Shaver '  like  that !  ! 

With  a  broad  pancake  face,  and  eyes  buried  in  fat  *  " 

For  her  part,  "  She  was  sure    She  could  never  endure 
A  lad  with  a  lisp,  and  a  leg  like  a  skewer  ! — 
Such  a  name  too ; — ('twas  Potts  !) — and  so  nasty  a  trade — 
No,  no, — she  would  much  rather  die  an  old  maid  ! — 
He  a  husband,  indeed  ! — Well,  mine,  come  what  may  come, 
Shan't  look  like  a  blister,  or  smell  of  Guaiacum ! " 

But  there  !    She'd  "  declare,    It  was  Janet's  affair — 
— Chacun  ct  son  gout    As  she  baked  she  might  brew — 
She  could  not  prevent  her — 'twas  no  use  in  trying  it — 
Oh,  no, — she  had  made  her  own  bed,  and  might  lie  in  it, 
They  '  repent  at  leisure  who  marry  at  random.' 
No  matter — De  gustibus  non  disputandum  !  " 

Consoling  herself  with  this  choice  bit  of  Latin, 
Aunt  Fanny  resignedly  bought  some  white  satin, 
And,  as  the  Soubrette,    Was  a  very  great  pet 
After  all, — she  resolved  to  forgive  and  forget, 
And  sat  down  to  make  her  a  bridal  rosette, 
With  magnificent  bits  of  some  white-looking  metal 
Stuck  in,  here  and  there,  each  forming  a  petal. — 
— On  such  an  occasion,  one  couldn't  feel  hurt, — 
Of  course,  that  she  ceased  to  remember — my  Shirt  ! 

Ten  years, — or  nigh, —    Had  again  gone  by, 
When  Fan  accidentally  casting  her  eye 
On  a  dirty  old  work-basket,  hung  up  on  high 
In  the  store-closet  where  herbs  were  put  by  to  dry, 
Took  it  down  to  explore  it — she  didn't  know  why. — 

Within,  a  pea-soup  colour'd  fragment  she  spied, 

Of  the  hue  of  a  November  fog  in  Cheapside, 

Or  a  bad  piece  of  ginger-bread  spoilt  in  the  baking. 

— I  still  hear  her  cry, —    "  I  wish  I  may  die 
If  here  isn't  Tom's  Shirt,  that's  been  so  long  a-making ! 

My  gracious  me !    Well, — only  to  see ! 
1  declare  it's  as  yellow  as  yellow  can  be ! 
Why  it  looks  as  though't  had  been  soak'd  in  green  tea ! 

Dear  me,  did  you  ever  1 —    But  come — 'twill  be  clever 


200  THE  JNGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

To  bring  matters  round ;  so  I'll  do  my  endeavour 
'  Better  Late,'  says  an  excellent  proverb,  '  than  Never  ! ' 
It  is  stain'd,  to  be  sure ;  but  'grass-bleaching '  will  bring  it 
To  rights  '  in  a  jiffy.' — We'll  wash  it,  and  wring  it ; 

Or,  stay, — '  Hudson's  Liquor '    Will  do  it  still  quicker, 

And "  Here  the  new  maid  chimed  in,  "Ma'am,  Salt  of 

Lemon 

Will  make  it,  in  no  time,  quite  fit  for  a  Gemman ! " 
So  they  "  set  in  the  gathers," — the  large  round  the  collar, 
While  those  at  the  wristbands  of  course  were  much  smaller, — 
The  button-holes  now  were  at  length  "  overcast ; " 
Then  a  button  itself  was  sewn  on — 'twas  the  last ! 

All's  done !    All's  won ! 

Never  under  the  sun 
Was  Shirt  so  late  finish'd — so  early  begun ! — 

— The  work  would  defy    The  most  critical  eye. 
It  was  "  bleach'd  " — it  was  wash'd, — it  was  hung  out  to  dry,- 
It  was  mark'd  on  the  tail  with  a  T  and  an  I ! 

On  the  back  of  a  chair  it    Was  placed— just  to  air  it, 
In  front  of  the  fire. — "  Tom  to-morrow  shall  wear  it ! " 

— 0  cceca  mens  hominum !  Fanny,  good  soul, 

Left  her  charge  for  one  moment — but  one — a  vile  coal 

Bounced  out  from  the  grate,  and  set  fire  to  the  whole ! 


Had  it  been  Doctor  Arnott's  new  stove — not  a  grate  : — 
Had  the  coal  been  a  "  Lord  Mayor's  coal," — viz.,  a  slate  ;— 
What  a  different  tale  had  I  had  to  relate ! 
And  Aunt  Fan— and  my  shirt— been  superior  to  Fate  ;— 
One  moment — no  more ! —    — Fan  open'd  the  door ! 
The  draught  made  the  blaze  ten  times  worse  than  before  ; 
And  Aunt  Fanny  sank  down — in  despair — on  the  floor ! 

You  may  fancy  perhaps  Agrippina's  amazement, 

When  looking  one  fine  moonlight  night  from  her  casement, 

She  saw,  while  thus  gazing,    All  Rome  a-blazing, 
And,  losing  at  once  all  restraint  on  her  temper,  or 
Feelings,  exclaim'd  "  Hang  that  Scamp  of  an  Emperor, 
Although  he's  my  son ! —    — He  thinks  it  prime  fun, 
No  doubt ! — While  the  flames  are  demolishing  Rome, 
There's  my  Nero  a  fiddling  and  singing  '  Sweet  Home  ! ' " 


AUNT  FANNY.  207 

—Stay — I'm  really  not  sure  'twas  that  lady  who  said 
The  words  I've  put  down,  as  she  stepp'd  into  bed, — 
On  reflection  I  rather  believe  she  was  dead ; 

But  e'en  when  at  College,  I    Fairly  acknowledge,  I 
Never  was  very  precise  in  Chronology  ; 
So,  if  there's  an  error,  pray  set  down  as  mine  a 
Mistake  of  no  very  great  moment — in  fine,  a 
Mere  slip — 'twas  some  Pleb's  wife,  if  not  Agrippina. 

You  may  fancy  that  warrior,  so  stern  and  so  stony, 
Whom  thirty  years  since  we  all  used  to  call  BONEY, 
When,  engaged  in  what  he  styled  "  fulfilling  his  destinies, 
He  led  his  rapscallions  across  the  Borysthenes, 

And  made  up  his  mind,    Snug  quarters  to  find 
In  Moscow,  against  the  catarrhs  and  the  coughs 
Which  are  apt  to  prevail  'mongst  the  "  Owskis  "  and  "  Offs." 

At  a  time  of  the  year    When  your  nose  and  your  ear 
Are  by  no  means  as  safe  there  as  people's  are  here, 
Inasmuch  as  "  Jack  Frost,"  that  most  fearful  of  Bogles, 
Makes  folks  leave  their  cartilage  oft  in  their  "fogies." 

You  may  fancy,  I  say,    That  same  BONEY'S  dismay, 

When  Count  Rostopchin    At  once  made  him  drop  chin, 
And  turn  up  his  eyes,  as  his  rappee  he  took, 
With  a  sort  of  mort-de-ma-vie  kind  of  look, 

On  perceiving  that  "  Swing,"  And  "  all  that  sort  of  thing," 
Was  at  work — that  he'd  just  lost  the  game  without  knowing  it; 
That  the  Kremlin  was  blazing — the  Russians  "  a-going  it," — 
Every  plug  in  the  place  frozen  hard  as  the  ground, 
And  the  deuce  of  a  Turncock  at  all  to  be  found  ! 

You  may  fancy  King  Charles  at  some  Court  Fancy-Bali, 

(The  date  we  may  fix    In  Sixteen  sixty-six,) 
In  the  room  built  by  Inigo  Jones  at  Whitehall, 
Whence  his  father,  the  Martyr, — (as  such  mourn'd  by  all 
Who,  in  his,  wept  the  Law's  and  the  Monarchy's  fall,) 
Stept  out  to  exchange  regal  robes  for  a  pall — 
You  may  fancy  King  Charles,  I  say,  stopping  the  brawl, 
As  burst  on  his  sight  the  old  church  of  St.  Paul, 
By  the  light  of  its  flames,  now  beginning  to  crawl 
From  basement  to  buttress,  and  topping  its  wall— 
— You  may  fancy  old  Clarendon  making  a  call, 
And  stating  in  cold,  slow,  monotonous  drawl, 


208  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEOENIS. 

"  Sire,  from  Pudding  Lane's  End,  close  by  Fishmongers'  Hall 

To  Pye  Corner,  in  Smithfield,  there  is  not  a  stall 

There,  in  market,  or  street,  not  a  house  great  or  small, 

In  which  Knight  wields  his  falchion,  or  Cobbler  his  awl, 

But's  on  fire ! !  " — You  may  fancy  the  general  squall, 

And  bawl  as  they  all  call  for  wimple  and  shawl ! — 

— You  may  fancy  all  this — but  I  boldly  assert 

You  can't  fancy  Aunt  Fan— as  she  look'd  on  MY  SHIRT ! ! 

Was't  Apelles  ?  or  Zeuxis  ? — I  think  'twas  Apelles, 

That  artist  of  old — I  declare  I  can't  tell  his 

Exact  patronymic — I  write  and  pronounce  ill 

These  classical  names — whom  some  Grecian  Town-Council 

Employ'd — I  believe  by  command  of  the  Oracle, — 

To  produce  them  a  splendid  piece,  purely  historical, 

For  adorning  the  wall    Of  some  fane  or  Guildhall, 
And  who  for  his  subject  determined  to  try  a 
Large  painting  in  oils  of  Miss  Iphigenia 

At  that  moment  her  Sire,    By  especial  desire 
Of  "  that  Spalpeen,  O'Dysseus  "  (see  Barney  Maguire), 

Had  resolved  to  devote    Her  beautiful  throat 
To  old  Chalcas's  knife,  and  her  limbs  to  the  fire ; 
— An  act  which  we  moderns  by  no  means  admire, — 
An  off  ring,  'tis  true,  to  Jove,  Mars,  or  Apollo  cost 
No  trifling  sum  in  those  days,  if  a  holocaust, — 
Still,  although  for  economy  we  should  condemn  none, 
In  an  ava£  avSpuv  like  the  great  Agamemnon, 

To  give  up  to  slaughter    An  elegant  daughter, 
After  all  the  French,  Music,  and  Dancing  they'd  taught  her, 
And  Singing, — at  Heaven  knows  how  much  a  quarter, — 

In  lieu  of  a  Calf  ! —    It  was  too  bad  by  half  ! 
At  a  "  nigger  "  so  pitiful  who  would  not  laugh, 
And  turn  up  their  noses  at  one  who  could  find 
No  decenter  method  of  "  Raising  the  Wind  1 " 

No  doubt  but  he  might,    Without  any  great  Flight, 
Have  obtain'd  it  by  what  we  call  "  flying  a  kite." 
Or  on  mortgage — or  sure,  if  he  couldn't  so  do  it,  he 
Must  have  succeeded  "  by  way  of  annuity." 

But  there — it  appears,    His  crocodile  tears, 
His  "Oh!s"  and  his  "Ah!s,"  his  "Oh  Lawls"  and  "Oh 
dear!  s," 


AUNT  FANNY.  200 

Were  all  thought  sincere, — so  in  painting  his  Victim 
The  Artist  was  splendid — but  could  not  depict  Him, 

His  features  and  phiz  awry    Showed  so  much  misery, 
And  so  like  a  dragon  he    Look'd  in  his  agony, 
That  the  foiled  Painter  buried — despairing  to  gain  a 
Good  likeness — his  face  in  a  printed  Bandana, 
— Such  a  veil  is  best  thrown  o'er  one's  face  when  one's  hurt 
By  some  grief  which  no  power  can  repair  or  avert ! — 
— Such  a  veil  I  shall  throw  o'er  Aunt  Fan — and  My  Shirt ! 

MOKAL. 

And  now  for  some  practical  hints  from  the  story 

Of  Aunt  Fan's  mishap,  which  I've  thus  laid  before  ye  : 

For,  if  rather  too  gay,    I  can  venture  to  say, 
A  fine  vein  of  morality  is,  in  each  lay 
Of  my  primitive  Muse,  the  distinguishing  trait ! — 

First  of  all — Don't  put  off  till  to-morrow  what  may, 

Without  inconvenience,  be  managed  to-day  ! 

That  golden  occasion  we  call  "  Opportunity  " 

Rarely's  neglected  by  man  with  impunity  ! 

And  the  "  Future,"  how  brightly  soe'er  by  Hood's  dupe  colour'd. 

Ne'er  may  afford    You  a  lost  chance  restored, 
Till  both  you,  and  YOUR  SHIRT,  are  grown  old  and  pea-soup- 
colour'd  ! 

I  would  also  desire    You  to  guard  your  attire, 
Young  Ladies, — and  never  go  too  near  the  fire ! — 
— Depend  on't  there's  many  a  dear  little  Soul 
Has  found  that  a  Spark  is  as  bad  as  a  coal, — 
And  "  in  her  best  petticoat  burnt  a  great  hole ! " 

Last  of  all,  gentle  Reader,  don't  be  too  secure ! — 
Let  seeming  success  never  make  you  "  cock-sure  ! " 

But  beware ! — and  take  care,    When  all  things  look  fair, 
How  you  hang  your  Shirt  over  the  back  of  your  chair  ! — 

— "  There's  many  a  slip    Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip  ! " 
Be  this  excellent  proverb,  then,  well  understood, 
And  DON'T  HALLOO  BEFORE  YOU'RE  QUITE  OUT  OF  THE  WOOD  ! 


210  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS, 


at  jftargate. 

A     LEGEND     OF     JARVIS'S     JETTY 
MR.  SIMPKINSON  (loquitur). 

'TWAS  in  Margate  last  July,  I  walk'd  upon  the  pier, 
I  saw  a  little  vulgar  Boy  —  I  said,  "What  make  you  herel 
The  gloom  upon  your  youthful  cheek  speaks  anything  but  joy  ;" 
Again  I  said,  "  What  make  you  here,  you  little  vulgar  Boy  ?  " 

He  frown'd,  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  —  he  deem'd  I  meant  to 

scoff—- 

And when  the  little  heart  is  big,  a  little  "  sets  it  off  ;  " 
He  put  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  his  little  bosom  rose,  — 
He  had  no  little  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  little  nose  !  — 

"  Hark  !  don't  you  hear,  my  little  man  !  —  it's  striking  nine,"  I 

said, 

"  An  hour  when  all  good  little  boys  and  girls  should  be  in  bed, 
Kun  home  and  get  your  supper,  else  your  Ma  will  scold  —  Oh  ! 

fie! 
It's  very  wrong  indeed  for  little  boys  to  stand  and  cry  !  " 

The  tear-drop  in  his  little  eye  again  began  to  spring, 
His  bosom  throbb'd  with  agony,  —  he  cried  like  anything. 
I  stoop'd  and  thus  amidst  his  sobs  I  heard  him  murmur  —  "  Ah  1 
I  haven't  got  no  supper  !  and  I  haven't  got  no  Ma  !  — 

"  My  father  he  is  on  the  seas,  —  my  mother's  dead  and  gone  f 
And  I  am  here,  on  this  here  pier,  to  roam  the  world  alone  ; 
I  have  not  had,  this  livelong  day,  one  drop  to  cheer  my  heart, 
Nor  '  brown  '  to  buy  a  bit  of  bread  with,  —  let  alone  a  tart. 

"  If  there's  a  soul  will  give  me  food,  or  find  me  in  employ, 
By  day  or  night,  then  blow  me  tight  !  "  (he  was  a  vulgar  Boy  ;) 
4  And  now  I'm  here,  from  this  here  pier  it  is  my  fix'd  intent 
To  jump,  as  Mister  Levi  did  from  off  the  Monu-ment  !  " 

Cheer  up  !  cheer  up  !  my  little  man  —  cheer  up  !  "  I  kindly 

said, 
"  You  are  a  naughty  boy  to  take  such  things  into  your  head  : 


MISADVENTURES  AT  MARGATE.  211 

If  you  should  jump  from  off  the  pier,  you'd  surely  break  your 

legs, 
Perhaps  your  neck — then  Bogey'd  have  you,  sure  as  eggs  are 

eggs! 

"  Come  home  with  me,  my  little  man,  come  home  with  me  and 

sup, 

My  landlady  is  Mrs.  Jones — we  must  not  keep  her  up — 
There's  roast  potatoes  at  the  fire, — enough  for  me  and  you — 
Come  home,  you  little  vulgar  Boy — I  lodge  at  Number  2." 

I  took  him  home  to  Number  2,  the  house  beside  "  The  Foy," 
I  bade  him  wipe  his  dirty  shoes, — that  little  vulgar  Boy, — 
And  then  I  said  to  Mistress  Jones,  the  kindest  of  her  sex, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  go  and  fetch  a  pint  of  double  X ! " 
But  Mrs.  Jones  was  rather  cross,  she  made  a  little  noise, 
She  said  she  "  did  not  like  to  wait  on  little  vulgar  Boys." 
She  with  her  apron  wiped  the  plates,  and  as  she  rubb'd  the  deli 
Said  I  might  "  go  to  Jericho,  and  fetch  my  beer  myself ! " 

I  did  not  go  to  Jericho — I  went  to  Mr.  Cobb — 

I  changed  a  shilling — (which  in  town  the  people  call  "  a  Bob  ")— 

It  was  not  so  much  for  myself  as  for  that  vulgar  child — 

And  I  said, "  A  pint  of  double  X,  and  please  to  draw  it  mild !  "— 

When  I  came  back  I  gazed  about — I  gazed  on  stool   and 

chair — 

I  could  not  see  my  little  friend — because  he  was  not  there  1 
I  peep'd  beneath  the  table-cloth — beneath  the  sofa  too — 
I  said,  "  You  little  vulgar  Boy !  why  what's  become  of  you  1 " 

I  could  not  see  my  table-spoons — I  look'd,  but  could  not  see 

The  little  fiddle-pattern'd  ones  I  use  when  I'm  at  tea  ; 

— I  could   not    see   my  sugar-tongs — my   silver   watch — oh 

dear! 
I  know  'twas  on  the  mantelpiece  when  I  went  out  for  beer. 

I  could  not  see  my  Macintosh — it  was  not  to  be  seen  ! — 

Nor  yet  my  best  white  beaver  hat,  broad  brimm'd  and  lined 

with  green  ; 
My  carpet-bag — my  cruet-stand,  that   holds   my  sauce  and 

soy,— 
My  roast   potatoes ! — all   are   gone ! — and   so's   that   vulgar 

Boy  I 


212  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

I  rang  the  bell  for  Mrs.  Jones,  for  she  was  down  below, 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Jones!  what  do  you  think? — ain't  this  a  pretty 

go?— 

— That  horrid  little  vulgar  Boy  whom  I  brought  here  to-night, 
— He's  stolen  my  things  and  run  away  !  ! " — Says  she,  "  And 

sarve  you  right ! ! " 


Next  morning  I  was  up  betimes — I  sent  the  Crier  round, 
All  with  his  bell  and  gold-laced  hat,  to  say  I'd  give  a  pound 
To  find  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  who'd  gone  and  used  me  so  ; 
But  when  the  Crier  cried,  "  O  Yes ! "  the  people  cried,  "  O 
No!" 

I  went  to  "  Jarvis'  Landing-place,"  the  glory  of  the  town, 
There  was  a  common  sailor-man  a-walking  up  and  down, 
I  told  my  tale — he  seem'd  to  think  I'd  not  been  treated  well, 
And  call'd  me  "  Poor  old  Buffer ! " — what  that  means  I  cannot 
tell 

That  Sailor-man  he  said  he'd  seen  that  morning  on  the  shore, 
A  son  of — something — 'twas  a  name  I'd  never  heard  before, 
A  little  "  gallows-looking  chap " — dear  me  ;   what  could  he 

mean? 
With  a  "  carpet-swab  "  and  "  muckintogs,"  and  a  hat  turn'd  up 

with  green. 

He  spoke  about  his  "precious  eyes"  and  said  he'd  seen  him 

"sheer," 

— It's  very  odd  that  Sailor-men  should  talk  so  very  queer — 
And  then  he  hitch'd  his  trousers  up,  as  is,  I'm  told,  their  use, 
-  It's  very  odd  that  Sailor-men  should  wear  those  things  so 

loose. 

I  did  not  understand  him  well,  but  think  he  meant  to  aay 
He'd  seen  that  little  vulgar  boy,  that  morning,  swim  away 
In  Captain  Large's  Royal  George,  about  an  hour  before, 
And  they  were  now,  as  he  supposed,  "  somewheres "  about  the 
Nore. 

A  landsman  said,  "I  twig    the    chap — he's  been  upon  the 

Mill- 
ed 'cause  he  gammons  so  the  flats,  ve  calls  him  Veeping 
Bill!" 


MISADVENTURES  AT  MARGATE.  213 

He  said,  "  he'd  done  me  wery  brown,"  and  nicely  "  stow'd  the 

swag," 
— That's  French,  I  fancy,  for  a  hat — or  else  a  carpet-bag. 

I  went  and  told  the  constable  my  property  to  track  : 
He  ask'd  me  if  "  I  did  not  wish  that  I  might  get  it  back  ? " 
I  answer 'd,  "To  be  sure  I  do ! — it's  what  I'm  come  about." 
He  smiled  and  said,  "  Sir,  does  your  mother  know  that  you  are 
out  1 " 

Not  knowing  what  to  do,  I  thought  I'd  hasten  back  to  town, 
And  beg  our  own  Lord  Mayor  to  catch  the  Boy  who'd  "  done 

me  brown." 

His  Lordship  very  kindly  said  he'd  try  and  find  him  out, 
But  he  rather  thought  that  there  were  several  vulgar  boys 

about. 

He  sent  for  Mr.  Withair  then,  and  I  described  "  the  swag," 
My  Macintosh,  my  sugar-tongs,  my  spoons,  and  carpet-bag ; 
He  promised  that  the  New  Police  should  all  their  powers 

employ ! 
But  never  to  this  hour  have  I  beheld  that  vulgar  Boy. 

MORAL. 

Remember,  then,  what  when  a  boy  I've  heard  my  Grandma' 

tell, 
"  BE  WARN'D  IN  TIME  BY  OTHERS'  HARM,  AND  YOU  SHALL  DO 

PULL  WELL  ! " 
Don't  link  yourself  with  vulgar  folks,  who've  got  no  fixed 

abode, 
Tell  lies,  use  naughty  words,  and  say  "  they  wish  they  may  be 

blowtt!" 

Don't  take  too  much  of  double  X ! — and  don't  at  night  go  out 
To  fetch  your  beer  yourself,  but  make  the  pot-boy  bring  your 

stout ! 

And  when  you  go  to  Margate  next,  just  stop  and  ring  the  bell, 
Give  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Jones,  and  say  I'm  pretty  well ! 


214  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THANET. 

THE  fire-flash  shines  from  Reculver  cliff, 

And  the  answering  light  burns  blue  in  the  skiff, 

And  there  they  stand,    That  smuggling  band, 
Some  in  the  water  and  some  on  the  sand, 
Ready  those  contraband  goods  to  land  : 
The  night  is  dark,  they  are  silent  and  still, 
—  At  the  head  of  the  party  is  Smuggler  Bill  ! 

"  Now  lower  away  !  come,  lower  away  ! 

We  must  be  far  ere  the  dawn  of  the  day. 

If  Exciseman  Gill  should  get  scent  of  the  prey, 

And  should  come,  and  should  catch  us  here,  what  would  he 

say? 

Come,  lower  away,  lads  —  once  on  the  hill, 
We'll  laugh,  ho  !  ho  !  at  Exciseman  Gill  !  " 

The  cargo's  lower'd  from  the  dark  skiffs  side, 
And  the  tow-line  drags  the  tubs  through  the  tide, 

No  flick  nor  flam,    But  your  real  Schiedam, 
"  Now  mount,  my  merry  men,  mount  and  ride  !  " 
Three  on  the  crupper  and  one  before, 
And  the  led-horse  laden  with  five  tubs  more  ; 

But  the  rich  point-lace,    In  the  oil-skin  case 
Of  proof  to  guard  its  contents  from  ill, 
The  "  prime  of  the  swag,"  is  with  Smuggler  Bill  ! 

Merrily  now  in  a  goodly  row, 

Away  and  away  those  smugglers  go, 

And  they  laugh  at  Exciseman  Gill,  ho  !  ho  ! 

When  out  from  the  turn    Of  the  road  to  Herne, 
Comes  Gill,  wide  awake  to  the  whole  concern  ! 
Exciseman  Gill,  in  all  his  pride, 
With  the  Custom-house  officers  all  at  his  side  ! 

They  were  call'd  Custom-house  officers  then  ; 
There  were  no  such  things  as  "  Preventive  men." 

Sauve  qui  pent  I    That  lawless  crew, 
Away,  and  away,  and  away  they  flew  ! 
Some  dropping  one  tub,  some  dropping  two  ;  —  > 


THE  SMUGGLERS  LEAP.  215 

Some  gallop  this  way,  and  some  gallop  that, 
Through  Fordwich  Level — o'er  Sandwich  Flat, 
Some  fly  that  way,  and  some  fly  this, 
Like  a  covey  of  birds  when  the  sportsmen  miss  ; 

These  in  their  hurry    Made  for  Sturry, 
With  Custom-house  officers  close  in  their  rear. 
Down  Rushbourne  Lane,  and  so  by  Westbere, 

None  of  them  stopping,    But  shooting  and  popping, 
And  many  a  Custom-house  bullet  goes  slap 
Through  many  a  three-gallon  tub  like  a  tap, 

And  the  gin  spurts  out    And  squirts  all  about, 
And  many  a  heart  grew  sad  that  day, 
That  so  much  good  liquor  was  so  thrown  away. 

Sauve  qui  pent  /    That  lawless  crew 
Away,  and  away,  and  away  they  flew ! 
Some  seek  Whitstable — some  Grove  Ferry, 
Spurring  and  whipping  like  madmen — very — 
For  the  life !  for  the  life  !  they  ride  !  they  ride  ! 
And  the  Custom-house  officers  all  divide, 
And  they  gallop  on  after  them  far  and  wide ! 
All,  all,  save  one — Exciseman  Gill, — 
He  sticks  to  the  skirts  of  Smuggler  Bill ! 

Smuggler  Bill  is  six  feet  high, 

He  has  curling  locks,  and  a  roving  eye, 

He  has  a  tongue  and  he  has  a  smile 

Trained  the  female  heart  to  beguile, 

And  there  is  not  a  farmer's  wife  in  the  Isle, 

From  St.  Nicholas  quite    To  the  Foreland  Light, 
But  that  eye,  and  that  tongue,  and  that  smile  will  wheedle  her 
To  have  done  with  the  Grocer  and  make  him  her  Tea-dealer  ; 
There  is  not  a  farmer  there  but  he  still 
Buys  gin  and  tobacco  from  Smuggler  Bill. 

Smuggler  Bill  rides  gallant  and  gay 
On  his  dapple-grey  mare,  away,  and  away, 
And  he  pats  her  neck,  and  he  seems  to  say, 
"  Follow  who  will,  ride  after  who  may, 

In  sooth  he  had  need    Fodder  his  steed, 
.In  lieu  of  Lent-corn,  with  a  Quicksilver  feed  ; 


216  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

— Nor  oats,  nor  beans,  nor  the  best  of  old  hay, 
Will  make  him  a  match  for  my  own  dapple-grey  ! 
Ho  !  ho  ! — ho  !  ho !  "  says  Smuggler  Bill — 
He  draws  out  a  flask  and  he  sips  his  fill, 
And  he  laughs  "  Ho !  ho ! "  at  Exciseman  GilL 

Down  Chislett  Lane,  so  free  and  so  fleet 
Rides  Smuggler  Bill,  and  away  to  Up-street ; 

Sarre  Bridge  is  won —  Bill  thinks  it  fun  ; 
"  Ho !  ho !  the  old  tub-gauging  son  of  a  gun — 
His  wind  will  be  thick,  and  his  breeks  be  thin, 
Ere  a  race  like  this  he  may  hope  to  win  !  " 

Away,  away    Goes  the  fleet  dapple-grey, 
Fresh  as  the  breeze  and  free  as  the  wind, 
And  Exciseman  Gill  lags  far  behind. 
'* /  would  give  my  soul"  quoth  Exciseman  Gill, 
"  For  a  nag  that  would  catch  that  Smuggler  Bill  I—- 
No matter  for  blood,  no  matter  for  bone, 
No  matter  for  colour,  bay,  brown,  or  roan, 

So  I  had  but  one  ! "    A  voice  cried  "  Done ! " 
"  Ay,  dun,"  said  Exciseman  Gill,  and  he  spied 
A  custom-house  officer  close  by  his  side, 
On  a  high-trotting  horse  with  a  dun-colour 'd  hide. — 
"  Devil  take  me,"  again  quoth  Exciseman  Gill, 
"HI  had  but  that  horse,  I'd  have  Smuggler  Bill ! 

From  his  using  such  shocking  expressions,  it's  plain 
That  Exciseman  Gill  was  rather  profane. 

He  was,  it  is  true,    As  bad  as  a  Jew, 
A  sad  old  scoundrel  as  ever  you  knew, 
And  he  rode  in  his  stirrups  sixteen  stone  two. 
— He'd  just  utter'd  the  words  which  I've  mention 'd  to  you, 
When  his  horse  coming  slap  on  his  knees  with  him,  threw 
Him  head  over  heels,  and  away  he  flew, 
And  Exciseman  Gill  was  bruised  black  and  blue. 

When  he  arose    His  hands  and  his  clothes 
Were  as  filthy  as  could  be, — he'd  pitched  on  his  nose, 
And  rolled  over  and  over  again  in  the  mud, 
And  his  nose  and  his  chin  were  all  cover'd  with  blood  ; 
Yet  he  scream'd  with  passion,  "  I'd  rather  grill 
Than  not  come  up  with  that  Smuggler  Bill ! " 


THE  SMUGGLER'S  LEAP.  217 

— "  Mount !  Mount ! "  quoth  the  Custom-house  officer,  "get 

On  the  back  of  my  Dun,  you'll  bother  him  yet. 

Your  words  are  plain,  though  they're  somewhat  rough, 

'  Done  and  done'  between  gentlemen's  always  enough  ! — 

I'll  lend  you  a  lift — there — you're  up  on  him— so, 

He's  a  rum  one  to  look  at — a  devil  to  go  I " 

Exciseman  Gill    Dash'd  up  the  hill, 
And  mark'd  not,  so  eager  was  he  in  pursuit, 
The  queer  Custom-house  officer's  queer-looking  boot. 

Smuggler  Bill  rides  on  amain, 

He  slacks  not  girth  and  he  draws  not  rein, 

Yet  the  dapple-grey  mare  bounds  on  in  vain, 

For  nearer  now — and  he  hears  it  plain — 

Sounds  the  tramp  of  a  horse — "  'Tis  the  Ganger  again  !  " 

Smuggler  Bill    Dashes  round  by  the  mill 
That  stands  near  the  road  upon  Monkton  Hill, — 

"  Now  speed, — now  speed,    My  dapple-grey  steed, 
Thou  ever,  my  dapple,  wert  good  at  need ! 
O'er  Monkton  Mead,  and  through  Minster  Level, 
We'll  baffle  him  yet  be  he  gauger  or  devil ! 

For  Manston  Cave,  away !  away ! 
Now  speed  thee,  now  speed  thee,  my  good  dapple-grey, 
It  shall  never  be  said  that  Smuggler  Bill 
Was  run  down  like  a  hare  by  Exciseman  Gill ! " 
Manston  Cave  was  Bill's  abode, 
A  mile  to  the  north  of  the  Ramsgate  Road, 

(Of  late  they  say    It's  been  taken  away, 
That  is,  levell'd  and  fill'd  up  with  chalk  and  clay, 
By  a  gentleman  there  of  the  name  of  Day), 
Thither  he  urges  his  good  dapple-grey  ; 

And  the  dapple-grey  steed,    Still  good  at  need, 
Though  her  chest  it  pants,  and  her  flanks  they  bleed, 
Dashes  along  at  the  top  of  her  speed ; 
But  nearer  and  nearer  Exciseman  Gill 
Cries  "  Yield  thee !  now  yield  thee,  thou  Smuggler  Bill ! " 

Smuggler  Bill,  he  looks  behind, 
And  sees  the  Dun  horse  come  swift  as  the  wind, 
And  his  nostrils  smoke  and  his  eyes  they  blaze 
Like  a  couple  of  lamps  on  a  yellow  post-chaise  ! 
Every  shoe  he  has  got    Appears  red-hot ! 


218  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEOENDS. 

And  sparks  round  his  ears  snap,  crackle,  and  play, 

And  his  tail  cocks  up  in  a  very  odd  way ; 

Every  hair  in  his  mane  seems  a  porcupine's  quill, 

And  there  on  his  back  sits  Exciseman  Gill, 

Crying  "  Yield  thee !  now  yield  thee,  thou  Smuggler  Bill ! ' 

Smuggler  Bill  from  his  holster  drew 

A  large  horse-pistol  of  which  he  had  two ! 

Made  by  Nock ;  He  pull'd  back  the  cock 
As  far  as  he  could  to  the  back  of  the  lock  ; 
The  trigger  he  touch'd,  and  the  welkin  rang 
To  the  sound  of  the  weapon,  it  made  such  a  bang  ; 
Smuggler  Bill  ne'er  miss'd  his  aim, 
The  shot  told  true  on  the  Dun — but  there  came 
From  the  hole  where  it  enter'd — not  blood, — but  flame, 

— He  changed  his  plan,    And  fired  at  the  man  ; 
But  his  second  horse-pistol  flash'd  in  the  pan ! 
And  Exciseman  Gill,  with  a  hearty  good  will, 
Made  a  grab  at  the  collar  of  Smuggler  Bill 

The  dapple-grey  mare  made  a  desperate  bound 
When  that  queer  Dun  horse;  on  her  flank  she  found, 
Alack !  and  alas !  on  what  dangerous  ground ! 
It's  enough  to  make  one's  flesh  to  creep 
To  stand  on  that  fearful  verge  and  peep 
Down  the  rugged  sides  so  dreadfully  steep, 
Where  the  chalk-hole  yawns  full  sixty  feet  deep, 
O'er  which  that  steed  took  that  desperate  leap ! 
It  was  so  dark  then  under  the  trees, 
No  horse  in  the  world  could  tell  chalk  from  cheese — 
Down  they  went — o'er  that  terrible  fall, — 
Horses,  Exciseman,  Smuggler,  and  all ! ! 

Below  were  found    Next  day  on  the  ground 
By  an  elderly  gentleman  walking  his  round 
(I  wouldn't  have  seen  such  a  sight  for  a  pound), 
All  smash'd  and  dash'd,  three  mangled  corses, 
Two  of  them  human — the  third  was  a  horse's — 
That  good  dapple-grey,  and  Exciseman  Gill 
Yet  grasping  the  collar  of  Smuggler  Bill ! 

But  where  was  the  Dun  1  that  terrible  Dun  ? 
From  that  terrible  night  he  was  seen  by  none ! — 


THE  SMUGGLER'S  LEAP.  219 

There  are  some  people  think,  though  I  am  not  one, 
That  part  of  the  story  all  nonsense  and  fun, 

But  the  country-folks  there,  One  and  all  declare, 
When  the  "  Crowner's  'Quest "  came  to  sit  on  the  pair, 
They  heard  a  loud  Horse-laugh  up  in  the  air ! — 

— If  in  one  of  the  trips    Of  the  steam-boat  Eclipse 
You  should  go  down  to  Margate  to  look  at  the  ships, 
Or  to  take  what  the  bathing-room  people  call  "  Dips," 

You  may  hear  old  folks  talk    Of  that  quarry  of  chalk  : 
Or  go  over — it's  rather  too  far  for  a  walk, 
But  a  three-shilling  drive  will  give  you  a  peep 
At  that  fearful  chalk-pit — so  awfully  deep, 
Which  is  call'd  to  this  moment  "  The  Smuggler's  Leap  ! " 
Nay  more,  I  am  told,  on  a  moonshiny  night, 
If  you're  "  plucky,"  and  not  over-subject  to  fright, 
And  go  and  look  over  that  chalk-pit  white, 

You  may  see  if  you  will,    The  Ghost  of  Old  Gill 
Grappling  the  Ghost  of  Smuggler  Bill, 
And  the  Ghost  of  the  dapple-grey  lying  between  'em — 
I'm  told  so — I  can't  say  I  know  one  who's  seen  'em  ! 

MORAL. 

And  now,  gentle  Reader,  one  word  ere  we  part, 
Just  take  a  friend's  counsel,  and  lay  it  to  heart. 
Imprimis,  don't  smuggle  ! — if  bent  to  please  Beauty, 
You  must  buy  French  lace, — purchase  what  has  paid  duty  ! 
Don't  use  naughty  words,  in  the  next  place, — and  ne'er  in 
Your  language  adopt  a  bad  habit  of  swearing  ! 

Never  say,  "  Devil  take  me !  " 

Or  "  shake  me ! "  or  "  bake  me ! " 
Or  such-like  expressions — Remember  Old  Nick 
To  take  folks  at  their  word  is  remarkably  quick. 
Another  sound  maxim  I'd  wish  you  to  keep, 
Is,  "  Mind  what  you're  after,  and — Look  ere  you  Leap ! " 
Above  all,  to  my  last  gravest  caution  attend — 
NEVER  BORROW  A  HORSE  YOU  DON'T  KNOW  OF  A  FRIEND  ! ! 


220  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Bloutrte  3attte  of 

THE   SHROPSHIRE    BLUEBEARD. 
A      LEGEND     OP      "THE      PKOUD      SALOPIANS.1' 

OH  !  why  doth  thine  eye  gleam  so  bright, 

fclotitrir  Jlarftr  ? 
Oh  !  why  doth  thine  eye  gleam  so  bright  ?  — 

The  Mother's  at  home,    The  Maid  may  not  roam, 
She  never  will  meet  thee  to-night  1 

By  the  light 
Of  the  moon  —  it's  impossible  —  quite  ! 

Yet  thine  eye  is  still  brilliant  and  bright, 

fcloutur  Jatfte  ! 

It  gleams  with  a  fiendish  delight  — 
"  'Tis  done—    She  is  won  1 
Nothing  under  the  sun 
Can  loose  the  charm'd  ring,  though  it's  slight  ! 

Ho!  ho! 
It  fits  so  remarkably  tight  !  "  — 

The  wire  is  as  thin  as  a  thread, 

iiUiutitf  Jarfcr  ! 
The  wire  is  as  thin  as  a  thread  !  — 

"  Though  slight  be  the  chain,    Again  might  and  main 
Cannot  rend  it  in  twain,  —  she  is  wed  ! 

She  is  wed  ! 
She  is  mine,  be  she  living  or  dead  ! 

Haw  !  haw  !  !  " 

Nay,  laugh  not,  I  pray  thee,  so  loud, 


Oh  !  laugh  not  so  loud  and  so  clear  ! 

Though  sweet  is  thy  smile    The  heart  to  beguile, 
Yet  thy  laugh  is  quite  shocking  to  hear, 

O  dear  ! 
It  makes  the  blood  curdle  with  fear  ! 

The  Maiden  is  gone  by  the  glen, 

UlouDte 


BLOUDIE  JACKE  OF  SHREWSBERRIE,  221 

She  is  gone  by  the  glen  and  the  wood — 

It's  a  very  odd  thing    She  should  wear  such  a  ring, 
While  her  tresses  are  bound  with  a  snood. 

By  the  rood ! 

It's  a  thing  that's  not  well  understood ! 
The  maiden  is  stately  and  tall, 

iiloutuc  Jacfce ! 
And  stately  she  walks  in  her  pride  ; 

But  the  young  Mary- Anne     Huns  as  fast  as  she  can. 
To  o'ertake  her,  and  walk  by  her  side ! 

Though  she  chide — 
She  deems  not  her  sister  a  bride ! 

But  the  Maiden  is  gone  by  the  glen, 

iiloutttp  Jtecfte ! 
Mary-Anne  she  is  gone  by  the  lea ; 

She  o'ertakes  not  her  sister    It's  clear  she  has  miss'd  her, 
And  cannot  think  where  she  can  be ! 

Dear  me ! 
"  Ho !  ho !— We  shall  see !  we  shall  see ! " 

Mary- Anne  is  gone  over  the  lea, 

iiloutitr  Jfac&e ! 
Mary- Anne  she  is  come  to  the  Tower  ! 

But  it  makes  her  heart  quail    For  it  looks  like  a  jail, 
A  deal  more  than  a  fair  Lady's  bower, 

So  sour 
It's  ugly  grey  walls  seem  to  lour. 

For  the  barbican's  massy  and  high, 

ttlouiue  Jacfer ! 
And  the  oak-door  is  heavy  and  brown  ; 

And  with  iron  it's  plated    And  machicollated, 
To  pour  boiling  oil  and  lead  down  ; 

How  you'd  frown 
Should  a  ladle-full  fall  on  your  own  crown ' 

The  rock  that  it  stands  on  is  steep, 

ttlou&te  #acfte ! 

To  gain  it  one's  forced  for  to  creep  ; 
The  Portcullis  is  strong,    And  the  Drawbridge  is  long, 


B  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  the  water  runs  all  round  the  Keep  ; 

At  a  peep 
You  can  see  that  the  moat's  very  deep  ! 

The  Drawbridge  is  long,  but  it's  down, 

iSloubie  Jfacfte  ! 
And  the  Portcullis  hangs  in  the  air  ; 

And  no  Warder  is  near,    With  his  horn  and  his  spear, 
To  give  notice  when  people  come  there.  — 

I  declare 
Mary-  Anne  has  run  into  the  Square  ! 

The  oak-door  is  heavy  and  brown, 


But  the  oak-door  is  standing  ajar, 

And  no  one  is  there    To  say,  "  Pray  take  a  chair, 
You  seem  tired,  Miss,  with  running  so  far  — 

So  you  are  — 
With  grown  people  you're  scarce  on  a  par  !  " 

But  the  young  Mary-  Anne  is  not  tired, 

Ulou&ie  ;<Jacfc*  ! 
She  roams  o'er  your  Tower  by  herself  ; 

She  runs  through,  very  soon,    Each  boudoir  and  saloon, 
And  examines  each  closet  and  shelf, 

Your  pelf, 
All  your  plate,  and  your  china  —  and  delf. 

She  looks  at  your  Arras  so  fine, 

Ijlouftte  jfacfee  ! 
So  rich,  all  description  it  mocks  ; 

And  she  now  and  then  pauses    To  gaze  at  your  vases, 
Your  pictures,  and  or-molu  clocks  ; 

Every  box, 
Every  cupboard  and  drawer  she  unlocks. 

She  looks  at  the  paintings  so  rare, 


That  adorn  every  wall  in  your  house  ; 

Your  impaydble  pieces,    Your  Paul  Veroneses, 
Your  Kembrandts,  your  Guides,  and  Dows, 

Morland's  Cows, 
Claude's  Landscapes,—  and  Landsecr's  Bow-wows. 


BLOUDIE  JACKS  OF  SHREWSBERRIE.  223 

She  looks  at  your  Statues  so  fine, 

ISloutiic  Jlarke  ! 
And  mighty  great  notice  she  takes 

Of  your  Niobe  crying,    Your  Mirmillo  dying, 
Your  Hercules  strangling  the  snakes,  — 

How  he  shakes 
The  nasty  great  things  as  he  wakes  ! 

Your  Laocoon,  his  serpents  and  boys, 

ijloulnr  jflacfcr  ! 
She  views  with  some  little  dismay  ; 

A  copy  of  that  I  can    See  in  the  Vatican, 
Unless  the  Pope's  sent  it  away, 

As  they  say, 
In  the  Globe,  he  intended  last  May. 

There's  your  Belvidere  Phcebus,  with  which, 


Mr.  Milman  says  none  other  vies. 

(His  lines  on  Apollo    Beat  all  the  rest  hollow, 
And  gain'd  him  the  Newdigate  prize.) 

How  the  eyes 
Seem  watching  the  shaft  as  it  flies  ! 

There's  a  room  full  of  satins  and  silks, 


There's  a"  room  full  of  velvet  and  lace, 
There  are  drawers  full  of  rings 
And  a  thousand  fine  things, 

And  a  splendid  gold  watch  with  a  case 

O'er  its  face, 

Is  in  every  room  in  the  place. 

There  are  forty  fine  rooms  on  a  floor, 


And  every  room  fit  for  a  Ball, 

It's  so  gorgeous  and  rich,    With  so  lofty  a  pitch, 
And  so  long,  and  so  broad,  and  so  tall  ; 

Yes,  all, 
Save  the  last  one  —  and  that's  very  small  ! 

It  boasts  not  stool,  table,  or  chair, 

Jacfer  : 


4  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But  one  Cabinet,  costly  and  grand, 

Which  has  little  gold  figures    Of  little  gold  Niggers 
With  fishing-rods  stuck  in  each  hand.  — 

It's  japann'd, 
And  its  placed  on  a  splendid  buhl  stand. 

Its  hinges  and  clasps  are  of  gold, 


And  of  gold  are  its  key-hole  and  key. 

And  the  drawers  within    Have  each  a  gold  pin, 
And  they're  number'd  with  1,  2,  and  3, 

You  may  see 
All  the  figures  in  gold  filigree  ! 

Number  1's  full  of  emeralds  green, 

ISIoutitr  Jacfer  ! 
Number  2's  full  of  diamonds  and  pearl  ; 

But  what  does  she  see    In  drawer  Number  3, 
That  makes  all  her  senses  to  whirl, 

Poor  Girl  ! 
And  each  lock  of  her  hair  to  uncurl  ?  — 

Wedding  fingers  are  sweet  pretty  things, 

TSloutrtr  Jlar!  »•  ! 

To  salute  them  one  eagerly  strives, 
When  one  kneels  to  "  propose  "  — 
It's  another  quelque  chose 
When  cut  off  at  the  knuckles  with  knives, 

From  our  wives, 
They  are  tied  up  in  bunches  of  fives. 

Yet  there  they  lie,  one.  two,  three,  four  ! 


There  lie  they,  five,  six,  seven,  eight  ! 

And  by  them  in  rows,    Lie  eight  little  Great-toes, 
To  match  in  size,  colour,  and  weight  ! 

From  their  state, 
It  would  seem  they'd  been  sever'd  of  late. 

Beside  them  are  eight  Wedding-rings, 

ttloulrie  Jarfce  ! 


BLOUDIE  JACKS  OF  SHREWSBERRIE.  225 

And  the  gold  is  as  thin  as  a  thread  — 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  —  She  is  mine  —  This  will  make  up  the  Nine  .  " 
Dear  me  !  who  those  shocking  words  said  1  — 

—She  fled 
To  hide  herself  under  the  bed. 

But,  alas  !  there's  no  bed  in  the  room, 


And  she  peeps  from  the  window  on  high  ; 

Only  fancy  her  fright    And  the  terrible  sight 
Down  below,  which  at  once  meets  her  eye  ! 

"Oh  My!!" 
She  half  utter'd,  —  but  stifled  her  cry. 

For  she  saw  it  was  You  and  your  Man, 

13  1  n  ut)  ir  Jfl.irftf  ! 
And  she  heard  your  unpleasant  "  Haw  !  haw  !  !  " 

While  her  sister,  stone  dead,    By  the  hair  of  her  head, 
O'er  the  bridge  you  were  trying  to  draw, 

As  she  saw  — 
A  thing  quite  contra-ry  to  law  ! 

Your  man  has  got  hold  of  her  heels, 

ISlou&ie  Jfacfer  ! 
ttlou&ic  Sacfee  !  you've  got  hold  of  her  hair  !— 

But  nor  3adu  nor  his  Man 

Can  see  young  Mary-  Anne, 
She  has  hid  herself  under  the  stair, 

And  there 
Is  a  horrid  great  Dog,  I  declare  ! 

His  eye-balls  are  bloodshot  and  blear, 

iJloutiir  Jarfer  ! 
He's  a  sad  ugly  cur  for  a  pet  ; 

He  seems  of  the  breed    Of  that  "  Billy,"  indeed, 
Who  used  to  kill  rats  for  a  bet  ; 

—  I  forget 
How  many  one  morning  he  ate. 

He  has  skull,  ribs,  and  vertebrae  there, 

ijlouinc  JJackt  ! 


226  THE  IN00LDSBT  LEGENDS. 

And  thigh-bones  ; — and,  though  it's  so  dim, 

Yet  it's  plain  to  be  seen 

He  has  pick'd  them  quite  clean, — 
She  expects  to  be  torn  limb  from  limb, 

So  grim 
He  looks  at  her — and  she  looks  at  him. 

She  has  given  him  a  bun  and  a  roll, 

lilou&ie  Jar&e  f 
She  has  given  him  a  roll  and  a  bun, 

And  a  Shrewsbury  cake,    Of  ipaflin's  own  make, 
Which  she  happen'd  to  take  ere  her  run 

She  begun — 
She'd  been  used  to  a  luncheon  at  One. 

It's  "  a  pretty  particular  Fix," 

iiloutrtr  #arfef  ! 
— Above, — there's  the  Maiden  that's  dead ; 

Below — growling  at  her —    There's  that  Cannibal  Cur 
Who  at  present  is  munching  her  bread, 

Instead 
Of  her  leg, — or  her  arm, — or  her  head. 

It's  "  a  pretty  particular  Fix," 

iSIoutoie  Jlarfte  1 

She  is  caught  like  a  mouse  in  a  trap  ; — 
Stay ! — there's  something,  I  think, 
That  has  slipp'd  through  a  chink, 
And  fall'n,  by  a  singular  hap, 

Slap, 
Into  poor  little  Mary- Anne's  lap ! 

It's  a  very  fine  little  gold  ring, 

lilouttt'f  jflfacftf ! 
Yet,  though  slight,  it's  remarkably  stout, 

But  it's  made  a  sad  stain,    Which  will  always  remain 
On  her  frock — for  Blood  will  not  wash  out ; 

I  doubt 
Salts  of  Lemon  won't  bring  it  about ! 

She  has  grasp'd  that  gold  ring  in  her  hand, 

ISUwlrtr 


BLOUDIE  JACKE  OF  SHREWSBERRIE.  227 

In  an  instant  she  stands  on  the  floor, 

She  makes  but  one  bound    O'er  the  back  of  the  hound, 
And  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump  to  the  door, 

And  she's  o'er 
The  drawbridge  she'd  traversed  before  1 

Her  hair's  floating  loose  in  the  breeze, 

Jjloutnr  flcitUt ! 
For  gone  is  her  "  bonnet  of  blue." 

— Now  the  Barbican's  past ! —    Her  legs  "  go  it "  as  fast 
As  two  drumsticks  a-beating  tattoo, 

As  they  do 
At  Reveille,  Parade,  or  Review ! 

She  has  run  into  Shrewsbury  town, 

lilou&ie  J.u-ftr  ! 
She  has  call'd  out  the  Beadle  and  May'r, 

And  the  Justice  of  Peace,    And  the  Ptural  Police, 
Till  "  Battle  Field  "  swarms  like  a  Fair,— 

And  see  there ! — 
E'en  the  Parson's  beginning  to  swear ! ! 

"^irf/j.  --•.(;•'  ftti.d'W 

There's  a  pretty  to-do  in  your  Tower, 

iiloutiir  Jfiif kc  i 
In  your  Tower  there's  a  pretty  to-do  ! 

All  the  people  of  Shrewsbury    Playing  old  gooseberry 
With  your  choice  bits  of  taste  and  vertu  ; 

Each  bijou 
Is  upset  in  their  search  after  you  ! 

They  are  playing  the  deuce  with  your  things, 

liiouDtr  JflarUr  ! 
There's  your  Cupid  is  broken  in  two, 

And  so  too,  between  us,  is    Each  of  your  Venuses, 
The  "  Antique  "  ones  you  bought  of  the  Jew, 

And  the  new 
One,  George  Robins  swears  came  from  St.  Cloud. 

The  CALLIPYGB'S  injured  behind, 

Eloutttr  JnrUr  ! 
The  DE  MEDICI'S  injured  before  1 

And  the  ANADYOMENE  's  injured  in  so  many 


228  THE  IJV&OLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Places,  I  think  there's  a  score, 

If  not  more, 
Of  her  fingers  and  toes  on  the  floor. 

They  are  hunting  you  up-stairs  and  down, 


Every  person  to  pass  is  forbid, 

While  they  turn  out  the  closets   And  all  their  deposits  - 
"  There's  the  dust-hole  —  come  lift  up  the  lid  !  "  — 

So  they  did  — 
But  they  could  not  find  where  you  were  hid  I 

Ah  !  Ah  !  —  they  will  have  you  at  last, 

U'outifr  Jnrfce  I 

The  chimneys  to  search  they  begin  ;  — 
They  have  found  you  at  last  1  — 
There  you  are,  sticking  fast, 
With  your  knees  doubled  up  to  your  chin, 

Though  you're  thin  !— 
—Dear  me  !  what  a  mess  you  are  in  !  — 

What  a  terrible  pickle  you're  in, 

Eloutrtr  .fyirkf  ! 
Why,  your  face  is  as  black  as  your  hat  ! 

Your  fine  Holland  shirt    Is  all  over  dirt  ! 
And  so  is  your  point  -lace  cravat  ! 

What  a  Flat 
To  seek  such  an  asylum  as  that  ! 

They  can  scarcely  help  laughing,  I  vow, 

iiloutnr  .flacfer  ! 
In  the  midst  of  their  turmoil  and  strife  ; 

You're  not  fit  to  be  seen  !    —  You  look  like  Mr.  Kean 
In  the  play  where  he  murders  his  wife  !  — 

On  my  life 
You  ought  to  be  scraped  with  a  knife  ! 

They  have  pull'd  you  down  flat  on  your  back. 


They  have  pull'd  you  down  flat  on  your  back  ! 
And  they  smack,  and  they  thwack, 
Till  your  "  funny  bones  "  crack, 


BLOUDIE  JACKE  OF  SHREWSBERRIE.  229 

As  if  you  were  stretch'd  on  the  rack, 

At  each  thwack  I  — 
Good  lack  !  what  a  savage  attack  ! 

They  call  for  the  Parliament  Man, 

BloutJte  jflarfce  ! 
And  the  Hangman,  the  matter  to  clinch, 

And  they  call  for  the  Judge,    But  others  cry  "  Fudge  !-- 
Don't  budge,  Mr.  Calcraft,  an  inch  ! 

Mr.  Lynch 
Will  do  very  well  at  a  pinch  !  " 

It  is  useless  to  scuffle  and  cuff, 

BlouUte  #<irfce  ! 

It  is  useless  to  struggle  and  bite, 
And  to  kick  and  to  scratch, 
You  have  met  with  your  match, 
And  the  Shrewsbury  Boys  hold  you  tight, 

Despite 
Your  determined  attempts  "  to  show  fight." 

They  are  pulling  you  all  sorts  of  ways, 

tflou&te  ijjacbe  ! 

They  are  twisting  your  right  leg  Nor-  West, 
And  your  left  leg  due  South, 
And  your  knee's  in  your  mouth, 
And  your  head  is  poked  down  on  your  breast, 

And  it's  prest, 
I  protest,  almost  into  your  chest  ! 

They  have  pull'd  off  your  arms  and  your  legs, 


As  the  naughty  boys  serve  the  blue  flies  ; 

And  they've  torn  from  their  sockets, 

And  put  in  their  pockets 
Your  fingers  and  thumbs  for  a  prize  ! 

And  your  eyes 
A  Doctor  has  bottled  —  from  Guy's. 

Your  trunk,  thus  dismember'd  and  torn, 

BlouDtr  jjacfe*  ! 
They  hew,  and  they  hack,  and  they  chop  ; 

And,  to  finish  the  whole,    They  stick  up  a  pole 


(0  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

In  the  place  that's  still  call'd  the  fflSnftic  Coppe, 

And  they  pop 
Your  grim  gory  head  on  the  top ! 

They  have  buried  the  fingers  and  toes, 

ISIouirir  JMc&r ! 

Of  the  victims  so  lately  your  prey. 
From  those  fingers  and  eight  toes 
Sprang  early  potatoes, 
"  ICatogcs'  dPsngcra  "  they're  call'd  to  this  day ; 

— So  they  say, — 
And  you  usually  dig  them  in  May. 

What  became  of  the  dear  little  girl  ? 

Dloufrte  .fladir  ! 
What  became  of  the  young  Mary -Anne  1 

Why,  I'm  sadly  afraid    That  she  died  an  Old  Maid, 
For  she  fancied  that  every  Young  Man 

Had  a  plan 
To  trepan  her  like  "  poor  Sister  Fan  ! " 

So  they  say  she  is  now  leading  apes, 

Ulontttr  Jarlvf  ! 
And  mends  Bachelors'  small-clothes  below  ; 

The  story  is  old,    And  has  often  been  told, 
But  I  cannot  believe  it  is  so — 

No!  No! 
Depend  on't  the  tale  is  "No  Go  ! " 

MORAL. 
And  now  for  the  moral  I'd  fain, 

13Ioulrtf  Jacfee ! 
That  young  Ladies  should  draw  from  my  pen, — 

It's — "  Don't  take  these  flights    Upon  moon-shiny  nights, 
With  gay,  harum-scarum  young  men, 

Down  a  glen ! — 
You  really  can't  trust  one  in  ten ! 

Let  them  think  of  your  terrible  Tower, 

Idlotrtrie  Jlarfce ! 
And  don't  let  them  liberties  take, 

Whether  Maidens  or  Spouses,    In  Bachelors'  houses ; 
Or,  some  time  or  another,  they'll  make 

A  Mistake ! 
And  lose — more  than  a  £l;vt tusbmic  t'at.c  '•  I 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD.  231 


in  tfje  OToofc;  or,  tfie 
Cragetrp. 

AN  OLD  SONG  TO  A  NEW  TUNE. 

WHEN  we  were  all  little  and  good,  — 

A  long  time  ago  I'm  afraid,  Miss  — 
We  were  told  of  the  Babes  in  the  Wood 

By  their  false,  cruel  Uncle  betray'd,  Miss  ; 
Their  Pa  was  a  Squire,  or  a  Knight  ; 

In  Norfolk  I  think  his  estate  lay  — 
That  is,  if  I  recollect  right, 

For  I've  not  read  the  history  lately. 

Rum  ti,  <fec. 

Their  Pa  and  their  Ma  being  seized 

With  a  tiresome  complaint,  which,  in  some  seasons, 
People  are  apt  to  be  seized 

With,  who're  not  on  their  guard  against  plum-seasons 
Their  medical  man  shook  his  head, 

And  he  could  not  get  well  to  the  root  of  it  ; 
And  the  Babes  stood  on  each  side  the  bed, 

While  their  Uncle,  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  it. 

"  Oh,  Brother  !  "  their  Ma  whisper'd,  faint 

And  low,  for  breath  seeming  to  labour,  "  Who'd 
Think  that  this  horrid  complaint, 

That's  been  going  about  in  the  neighbourhood, 
Thus  should  attack  me  —  nay,  more, 

My  poor  husband  besides,  —  and  so  fall  on  him  ! 
Bringing  us  so  near  to  Death's  door 

That  we  can't  avoid  making  a  call  on  him  I 

"  Now  think,  'tis  your  sister  invokes 

Your  aid,  and  the  last  word  she  says  is, 
Be  kind  to  those  dear  little  folks 

When  our  toes  are  turn'd  up  to  the  daisies  ! 
By  the  servants  don't  let  them  be  snubb'd,  — 

Let  Jane  have  her  fruit  and  her  custard,  — 
And  mind  Johnny's  chilblains  are  rubb'd 

Well  with  Whitehead's  best  essence  of  mustard. 


232  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

You  know  they'll  be  pretty  well  off  in 

Respect  to  what's  call'd  '  worldly  gear,' 
For  John,  when  his  Pa's  in  his  coffin, 

Comes  into  three  hundred  a-year ; 
And  Jane's  to  have  five  hundred  pound 

On  her  marriage  paid  down,  ev'ry  penny, 
So  you'll  own  a  worse  match  might  be  found, 

Any  day  in  the  week  than  our  Jenny  ! " 

Here  the  Uncle  pretended  to  cry, 

And,  like  an  old  thorough-paced  rogue,  he 
Put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his  eye, 

And  devoted  himself  to  Old  Bogey 
If  he  did  not  make  matters  all  right, 

And  said,  should  he  covet  their  riches, 
He  "  wish'd  the  old  Gentleman  might 

Fly  away  with  him,  body  and  breeches." 

No  sooner,  however,  were  they 

Put  to  bed  with  a  spade  by  the  sexton, 
Than  he  carried  the  darlings  away 

Out  of  that  parish  into  the  next  one, 
Giving  out  he  should  take  them  to  town, 

And  select  the  best  school  in  the  nation, 
That  John  might  not  grow  up  a  clown, 

But  receive  a  genteel  education. 

"  Greek  and  Latin  old  twaddle  I  call ! " 

Says  he,  "  While  his  mind's  ductile  and  plastic, 
I'll  place  him  at  Dotheboys  Hall, 

Where  he'll  learn  all  that's  new  and  gymnastic 
While  Jane,  as,  when  girls  have  the  dumps, 

Fortune-hunters,  by  scores,  to  entrap  'em  rise, 
Shall  go  to  those  worthy  old  frumps, 

The  two  Misses  Tickler  of  Clapham  Rise  ! " 

Having  thought  on  the  How  and  the  When 

To  get  rid  of  his  nephew  and  niece, 
He  sent  for  two  ill-looking  men, 

And  he  gave  them  five  guineas  a-piece. — 
Says  he,  "  Each  of  you  take  up  a  child 

On  the  crupper,  and  when  you  have  trotted 
Some  miles  through  that  wood  lone  and  wild, 

Take  your  knife  out  and  cut  its  carotid ! " 


THE  BABES  IN    THE   WOOD.  233 

"  Done  "  and  "  Done  "  is  pronounced  on  each  side, 

While  the  poor  little  dears  are  delighted 
To  think  they  a  cock-horse  shall  ride, 

And  are  not  in  the  least  degree  frighted  ; 
They  say  their  "  Ta !  Ta ! "  as  they  start, 

And  they  prattle  so  nice  on  their  journey, 
That  the  rogues  themselves  wish  to  their  heart 

They  could  finish  the  job  by  attorney. 
Nay,  one  was  so  taken  aback 

By  seeing  such  spirit  and  life  in  them, 
That  he  fairly  exclaim'd  "  I  say,  Jack, 

I'm  blow'd  if  I  can  put  a  knife  in  them  !  "— 
"  Pooh  ! "  said  his  pal,  "  you  great  dunce ! 

You've  pouch'd  the  good  gentleman's  money, 
So  out  with  your  whinger  at  once, 

And  scrag  Jane,  while  I  spiflicate  Johnny ! " 

He  refused,  and  harsh  language  ensued, 

Which  ended  at  length  in  a  duel, 
When  he  that  was  mildest  in  mood 

Gave  the  truculent  rascal  his  gruel ; 
The  Babes  quake  with  hunger  and  fear, 

While  the  ruffian  his  dead  comrade,  Jack,  buries ; 
Then  he  cries,  "  Loves,  amuse  yourselves  here 

With  the  hips,  and  the  haws,  and  the  blackberries ! 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  couple  of  shakes  ; 

So  don't,  dears,  be  quivering  and  quaking, 
I'm  going  to  get  you  some  cakes, 

And  a  nice  butter'd  roll  that's  a-baking  ! " 
He  rode  off  with  a  tear  in  his  eye, 

Which  ran  down  his  rough  cheek,  and  wet  it, 
As  he  said  to  himself  with  a  sigh, 

"  Pretty  souls ! — don't  they  wish  they  may  get  it ! !  * 

From  that  moment  the  Babes  ne'er  caught  sight 

Of  the  wretch  who  thus  sought  their  undoing, 
But  pass'd  all  that  day  and  that  night 

In  wandering  about  and  "  boo-hoo  "-ing. 
The  night  proved  cold,  dreary,  and  dark, 

So  that,  worn  out  with  sighings  and  sobbings, 
JSext  morn  they  were  found  stiff  and  stark, 

And  stone-dead,  by  two  little  Cock-Robins. 
H* 


234  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

These  two  little  birds  it  sore  grieves 

To  see  what  so  cruel  a  dodge  I  call, — 
They  cover  the  bodies  with  leaves, 

An  interment  quite  ornithological ; 
It  might  more  expensive  have  been, 

But  I  doubt,  though  I've  not  been  to  see  'em, 
If  among  those  in  all  Kensal  Green 

You  could  find  a  more  neat  Mausoleum. 
Now,  whatever  your  rogues  may  suppose, 

Conscience  always  makes  restless  their  pillows, 
And  Justice,  though  blind,  has  a  nose 

That  sniffs  out  all  conceal'd  peccadilloes. 
The  wicked  old  Uncle,  they  say, 

In  spite  of  his  riot  and  revel, 
Was  hippish  and  qualmish  all  day, 

And  dreamt  all  night  long  of  the  d — L 

He  grew  gouty,  dyspeptic,  and  sour, 

And  his  brow,  once  so  smooth  and  so  placid, 
Fresh  wrinkles  acquired  every  hour, 

And  whatever  he  swallow'd  turn'd  acid. 
The  neighbours  thought  all  was  not  right, 

Scarcely  one  with  him  ventured  to  parley, 
And  Captain  Swing  came  in  the  night, 

And  burnt  all  his  beans  and  his  barley. 

There  was  hardly  a  day  but  some  fox 

Ran  away  with  his  geese  and  his  ganders ; 
His  wheat  had  the  mildew,  his  flocks 

Took  the  rot,  and  his  horses  the  glanders ; 
His  daughters  drank  rum  in  their  tea, 

His  son,  who  had  gone  for  a  sailor, 
Went  down  in  a  steamer  at  sea, 

And  his  wife  ran  away  with  a  tailor. 

It  was  clear  he  lay  under  a  curse  ; 

None  would  hold  with  him  any  communion ; 
Every  day  matters  grew  worse  and  worse, 

Till  they  ended  at  length  in  The  Union ; 
While  his  man  being  caught  in  some  fact 

(The  particular  crime  I've  forgotten), 
When  he  came  to  be  hang'd  for  the  act, 

Split,  and  told  the  whole  story  to  Cotton. 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD.  235 

Understanding  the  matter  was  blown, 

His  employer  became  apprehensive 
Of  what,  when  'twas  more  fully  known, 

Might  ensue — he  grew  thoughtful  and  pensive ; 
He  purchased  some  sugar-of-lead, 

Took  it  home,  popp'd  it  into  his  porridge, 
Ate  it  up,  and  then  took  to  his  bed, 

And  so  died  in  the  workhouse  at  Norwich. 

MORAL. 

Ponder  well  now,  dear  Parents,  each  word 

That  I've  wrote,  and  when  Sirius  rages 
In  the  dog-days,  don't  be  so  absurd 

As  to  blow  yourselves  out  with  Green-gages ! 
Of  stone-fruits  in  general  be  shy, 

And  reflect  it's  a  fact  beyond  question 
That  Grapes,  when  they're  spelt  with  an  t, 

Promote  anything  else  but  digestion. — 

— When  you  set  about  making  your  will, 

Which  is  commonly  done  when  a  body's  ill, 
Mind,  and  word  it  with  caution  and  skill, 

And  avoid,  if  you  can,  any  codicil ! 
When  once  you've  appointed  an  heir 

To  the  fortune  you've  made,  or  obtain'd,  ere 
You  leave  a  reversion  beware 

Whom  you  place  in  contingent  remainder  ! 

Executors,  Guardians,  and  all 

Who  have  children  to  mind,  don't  ill  treat  them, 
Nor  think  that,  because  they  are  small 

And  weak,  you  may  beat  them,  and  cheat  them. 
Remember  that  "  ill-gotten  goods 

Never  thrive  ; "  their  possession's  but  cursory, 
So  never  turn  out  in  the  woods 

Little  folks  you  should  keep  in  the  nursery. 

Be  sure  he  who  does  such  base  things 

Will  ne'er  stifle  Conscience's  clamour ; 
His  "  riches  will  make  themselves  wings," 

And  his  property  come  to  the  hammer ! 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Then  He, — and  not  those  he  bereaves, 
Will  have  most  cause  for  sighings  and  sobbings, 

When  he  finds  himself  smother'd  with  leaves 
(Of  fat  catalogues)  heap'd  up  by  Robins ! 


Cfoe  IBeafc  ©rummer* 

A    LEGEND    OP    SALISBURY    PLAIN. 

OH,  Salisbury  Plain  is  bleak  and  bare, — 
At  least  so  I've  heard  many  people  declare, 
For  I  fairly  confess  I  never  was  there  ; — 

Not  a  shrub,  nor  a  tree,    Nor  a  bush  can  you  see, 
No  hedges,  no  ditches,  no  gates,  no  stiles, 
Much  less  a  house  or  a  cottage  for  miles ; — 
— It's  a  very  sad  thing  to  be  caught  in  the  rain 
When  night's  coming  on  upon  Salisbury  Plain. 

Now,  I'd  have  you  to  know    That  a  great  while  ago,— 
The  best  part  of  a  century,  may  be,  or  so, — 
Across  this  same  plain,  so  dull  and  so  dreary, 
A  couple  of  Travellers,  way-worn  and  weary, 

Were  making  their  way  ;    Their  profession,  you'd  say 
At  a  single  glance,  did  not  admit  of  a  query ; 
The  pump-handled  pig-tail,  and  whiskers  worn  then, 
With  scarce  an  exception,  by  sea-faring  men, 
The  jacket, — the  loose  trousers  "  bows'd  up  together  " — all 
Guiltless  of  braces,  as  those  of  Charles  Wetherall, — 
The  pigeon-toed  step,  and  the  rollicking  motion, 
Bespoke  them  two  genuine  sons  of  the  Ocean, 
And  show'd  in  a  moment  their  real  characters, 
(The  accent  so  placed  on  this  word  by  our  Jack  Tars). 

The  one  in  advance  was  sturdy  and  strong, 
With  arms  uncommonly  bony  and  long, 

And  his  Guernsey  shirt    Was  all  pitch  and  dirt, 
Which  sailors  don't  think  inconvenient  or  wrong. 

He  was  very  broad-breasted,    And  very  deep-chested  ; 
His  sinewy  frame  correspond  with  the  rest  did, 


THE  DEAD  DRUMMER.  2H7 

Except  as  to  height,  for  he  could  not  be  more 

At  the  most,  you  would  say,  than  some  five  feet  four. 

And,  if  measured,  perhaps  had  been  found  a  thought  lower. 

Dame  Nature,  in  fact, — whom  some  person  or  other, 

— A  Poet, — has  call'd  a  "  capricious  step-mother," — 

You  saw  when  beside  him,    Had  somehow  denied  him 
In  longitude  what  she  had  granted  in  latitude. 

A  trifling  defect    You'd  the  sooner  detect 
From  his  having  contracted  a  stoop  in  his  attitude. 
Square-built  and  broad-shoulder'd,  good-humour'd  and  gay, 
With  his  collar  and  countenance  open  as  day, 
The  latter — 'twas  mark'd  with  small-pox,  by  the  way, — 
Had  a  sort  of  expression  good-will  to  bespeak  ; 
He'd  a  smile  in  his  eye,  and  a  quid  in  his  cheek ! 
And,  in  short,  notwithstanding  his  failure  in  height, 
He  was  just  such  a  man  as  you'd  say,  at  first  sight, 
You  would  much  rather  dine,  or  shake  hands,  with  than  fight ! 

The  other,  his  friend  and  companion,  was  taller, 
By  five  or  six  inches,  at  least,  than  the  smaller ; 

From  his  air  and  his  mien    It  was  plain  to  be  seen, 

That  he  was,  or  had  been,    A  something  between 
The  real  "Jack  Tar  "  and  the  "Jolly  Marine." 
For,  though  he  would  give  an  occasional  hitch, 
Sailor-like  to  his  "  slops,"  there  was  something,  the  which, 
On  the  whole,  savour'd  more  of  the  pipe-clay  than  pitch. — 
Such  were  now  the  two  men  who  appear'd  on  the  hill, 
Harry  Waters  the  tall  one,  the  short  "  Spanking  Bill." 

To  be  caught  in  the  rain,    I  repeat  it  again, 
Is  extremely  unpleasant  on  Salisbury  Plain  ; 
And  when  with  a  good  soaking  shower  there  are  blended 
Blue  lightnings  and  thunder,  the  matter's  not  mended  ; 

Such  was  the  case    In  this  wild  dreary  place, 
On  the  day  that  I'm  speaking  of  now,  when  the  brace 
Of  travelers  alluded  to  quicken'd  their  pace, 
Till  a  good  steady  walk  became  more  like  a  race 
To  get  quit  of  the  tempest  which  held  them  in  chase. 

Louder,  and  louder    Than  mortal  gunpowder, 
The  heav'nly  artillery  kept  crashing  and  roaring, 
The  lightning  kept  flashing,  the  rain  too  kept  pouring, 


238  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

While  they,  helter-skelter.    In  vain  sought  for  shelter 
From  what  I've  heard  term'd,  "  a  regular  pelter  ; " 

But  the  deuce  of  a  screen    Could  be  anywhere  seen, 
Or  an  object  except  that,  on  one  of  the  rises, 

An  old  way-post  show'd    Where  the  Lavington  road 
Branch'd  off  to  the  left  from  the  one  to  Devizes  ; 
And  thither  the  footsteps  of  Waters  seem'd  tending, 
Though  a  doubt  might  exist  of  the  course  he  was  bending, 
To  a  landsman,  at  least,  who,  wherever  he  goes, 
Is  content,  for  the  most  part,  to  follow  his  nose ; — 

While  Harry  kept  "  backing  " 

And  "tilling"— and  "  tacking,"— 
Two  nautical  terms  which,  I'll  wager  a  guinea,  are 

Meant  to  imply    What  you,  reader,  and  I 
Would  call  going  zig-zag,  and  not  rectilinear. 

But  here,  once  for  all,  let  me  beg  you'll  excuse 
All  mistakes  I  may  make  in  the  words  sailors  use 

'Mongst  themselves,  on  a  cruise, 

Or  ashore  with  the  Jews, 

Or  in  making  their  court  to  their  Polls  and  their  Sues, 
Or  addressing  those  slop-selling  females  afloat — women 
Known  in  our  navy  as  oddly-named  boat- women. 
The  fact  is,  I  can't  say  I'm  versed  in  the  school 
So  ably  conducted  by  Marryat  and  Poole  ; 
(See  the  last-mention'd  gentleman's  "  Admiral's  Daughter  ") 

The  grand  vade  mecum    For  all  who  to  sea  come, 
And  get,  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  in  blue  water  ; 
Of  course  in  the  use  of  sea  terms  you'll  not  wonder 
If  I  now  and  then  should  fall  into  some  blunder, 
For  which  Captain  Chamier,  or  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke 
Would  call  me  a  "Lubber,"  and  "Son  of  a  Sea-cook." 

To  return  to  our  muttons — This  mode  of  progression 
At  length  upon  Spanking  Bill  made  some  impression, 

— "  Hillo,  messmate,  what  cheer  ? 

How  queer  you  do  steer !  " 

Cried  Bill,  whose  short  legs  kept  him  still  in  the  rear. 
"  Why,  what's  in  the  wind,  Bo  ? — what  is  it  you  fear  ? " 
For  he  saw  in  a  moment  that  something  was  frightening 
His  shipmate  much  more  than  the  thunder  and  lightning. 


THE  DEAD  DRUMMER.  23« 

"  Fear  1 "  stammer'd  out  Waters,  "  why,  HIM  ! — don't  yon  see 
What  faces  that  Drummer-boy's  making  at  me  ? 

— How  he  dodges  me  so    Wherever  I  go  ? — 
What  is  it  he  wants  with  me,  Bill, — do  you  know  ?  " 
"  What  Drummer-boy,  Harry  1 "  cries  Bill  in  surprise, 
(With  a  brief  exclamation,  that  ended  in  "  eyes,") 
"  What  Drummer-boy,  Waters  ] — the  coast  is  all  clear, 
We  haven't  got  never  no  Drummer-boy  here ! " 

— "  Why,  there ! — don't  you  see    How  he's  following  me  ? 
Now  this  way,  now  that  way,  and  won't  let  me  be  ! 
Keep  him  off,  Bill — look  here —    Don't  let  him  come  near ! 
Only  see  how  the  blood-drops  his  features  besmear ! 
What,  the  dead  come  to  life  again ! — Bless  me ! — Oh  dear ! " 

Bill  remark'd  in  reply,    "  This  is  all  very  queer — 
What,  a  Drummer-boy — bloody  too — eh !  well,  I  never — 
I  can't  see  no  Drummer-boy  here,  whatsumdever ! " 
"  Not  see  him ! — why,  there ; — look ! — he's  close  by  the  post- 
Hark  ! — hark  !  how  he  drums  at  me  now  ! — he's  a  Ghost ! " 

"  A  what  ?  "  return'd  Bill, — at  that  moment  a  flash 
More  than  commonly  awful  preceded  a  crash 
Like  what's  call'd  in  Kentucky  "  an  Almighty  Smash." — 
And  down  Harry  Waters  went  plump  on  his  knees, 
While  the  sound,  though  prolong'd,  died  away  by  degrees  ; 
In  its  last  sinking  echoes,  however,  were  some 
Which,  Bill  could  not  help  thinking,  resembled  a  drum  ! 

"  Hollo  !  Waters  ! — I  says,"    Quoth  he  in  amaze, 
"  Why,  I  never  see'd  nuffin  in  all  my  born  days 

Half  so  queer    As  this  here, 

And  I'm  not  very  clear 

But  that  one  of  us  two  has  good  reason  for  fear — 
You  to  jaw  about  drummers  with  nobody  near  us  ! — 
I  must  say  as  how  that  I  think  it's  mysterus." 

"  Oh,  mercy !  "  roar'd  Waters,  "do  keep  him  off,  Bill, 
And,  Andrew,  forgive  ! — I'll  confess  all, — I  will ! 

I'll  make  a  clean  breast,    And  as  for  the  rest, 
You  may  do  with  me  just  what  the  lawyers  think  best ; 
But  haunt  me  not  thus ! — let  these  visitings  cease, 
And  your  vengeance  accomplish'd,  Boy,  leave  me  in  peace ! " 


240  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

— Harry  paused  for  a  moment, — then  turning  to  Bill, 
Who  stood  with  his  mouth  open,  steady  and  still, 
Began  "  spinning  "  what  nauticals  term  a  "  tough  yarn," 
Viz.  :  his  tale  of  what  Bill  call'd  "  this  precious  consarn.' 


"  It  was  in  such  an  hour  as  this, 

On  such  a  wild  and  wintry  day, 
The  forked  lightning  seem'd  to  hiss, 

As  now,  athwart  our  lonely  way, 
When  first  these  dubious  paths  I  tried — 
Ton  livid  form  was  by  my  side ! — 

"  Not  livid  then — the  ruddy  glow 

Of  life,  and  youth,  and  health  it  bore ! 
And  bloodless  was  that  gory  brow, 

And  cheerful  was  the  smile  it  wore, 
And  mildly  then  those  eyes  did  shine— 
Those  eyes  which  now  are  blasting  mine ! 

"  They  beam'd  with  confidence  and  love 

Upon  my  face, — and  Andrew  Brand 

Had  sooner  fear'd  yon  frighten'd  dove 

Than  harm  from  Gervase  Matcham's  hand ! 
— I  am  no  Harry  Waters — men 
Did  call  me  Gervase  Matcham  then. 

"  And  Matcham,  though  a  humble  name, 

Was  stainless  as  the  feathery  flake 
From  Heaven,  whose  virgin  whiteness  came 

Upon  the  newly  frozen  lake  ; 
Commander,  comrade,  all  began 
To  laud  the  Soldier, — like  the  Man. 

"  Nay,  muse  not,  William, — I  have  said 
I  was  a  soldier— staunch  and  true 

As  any  he  above  whose  head 
Old  England's  lion  banner  flew  ; 

And  duty  done, — her  claims 

'Twas  said  I  had  a  kindly  heart. 


THE  DEAD  DRUMMER.  241 

"  And  years  roll'd  on,  and  with  them  came 

Promotion — Corporal — Sergeant — all 
In  turn — I  kept  mine  honest  fame — 

Our  Colonel's  self, — whom  men  did  call 
The  veriest  Martinet — ev'n  he, 
Though  cold  to  most,  was  kind  to  me ! — 

"  One  morn — oh  !  may  that  morning  stand 

Accursed  in  the  rolls  of  fate 
Till  latest  time  ! — there  came  command 

To  carry  forth  a  charge  of  weight 
To  a  detachment  far  away, — 
— It  was  their  regimental  pay ! — 

"  And  who  so  fit  for  such  a  task 

As  trusty  Matcham,  true  and  tried, 
Who  spurn 'd  the  inebriating  flask, 

With  honour  for  his  constant  guide  ? — 
On  Matcham  fell  their  choice — and  HE, — 
*  Young  Drum,' — should  bear  him  company  ! 

"  And  grateful  was  that  sound  to  hear, 

For  he  was  full  of  life  and  joy, 
The  mess-room  pet — to  each  one  dear 

Was  that  kind,  gay,  light-hearted  boy ; 
— The  veriest  churl  in  all  our  band 
Had  aye  a  smile  for  Andrew  Brand. — 

M  — Nay,  glare  not  as  I  name  thy  name ! 

That  threatening  hand,  that  fearful  brow 
Relax — avert  that  glance  of  flame ! 

Thou  see'st  I  do  thy  bidding  now ! 
Vex'd  Spirit,  rest ! — 'twill  soon  be  o'er, — 
Thy  blood  shall  cry  to  Heav'n  no  more ! 

"  Enough — we  journey'd  on — the  walk 

Was  long, — and  dull  and  dark  the  day, — 

And  still  young  Andrew's  cheerful  talk 
And  merry  laugh  beguiled  the  way  ; 

Noon  came,  a  sheltering  bank  was  there — 

We  paused  our  frugal  meal  to  share. 


242  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

"  Then  'twas,  with  cautious  hand,  I  sought, 
To  prove  my  charge  secure, — and  drew 
The  packet  from  my  vest,  and  brought 
The  glittering  mischief  forth  to  view, 
And  Andrew  cried, — No ! — 'twas  not  He !— » 
It  was  THE  TEMPTER  spoke  to  me ! 

"  But  it  was  Andrew's  laughing  voice 
That  sounded  in  my  tingling  ear, 
— '  Now,  Gervase  Matcham,  at  thy  choice,1 

It  seem'd  to  say, '  are  gauds  and  gear, 
And  all  that  wealth  can  buy  or  bring, 
Ease, — wassail, — worship, — everything ! 

'* '  No  tedious  drill,  no  long  parade, 

No  bugle  call  at  early  dawn  ; 
For  guard-room  bench,  or  barrack  bed, 

The  downy  couch,  the  sheets  of  lawn ; 
And  I  thy  Page, — thy  steps  to  tend, 
Thy  sworn  companion, — servant, — friend ! ' 

— "  He  ceased — that  is,  I  heard  no  more, 
Though  other  words  pass'd  idly  by, 

And  Andrew  chatter'd  as  before, 
And  laugh'd — I  mark'd  him  not — not  I, 

*  'Tis  at  thy  choice  I '  that  sound  alone 
Rang  in  mine  ear — voice  else  was  none. 

"  I  could  not  eat, — the  untasted  flask 
Mock'd  my  parch'd  lip — I  pass'd  it  by, 

'  What  ails  the  man  1 '  he  seem'd  to  ask. — 
I  felt,  but  could  not  meet  his  eye.— 

"Tis  at  thy  choice  !' — it  sounded  yet, — 

A  sound  I  never  may  forget. 

— u '  Haste !  haste  !  the  day  draws  on,'  I  cried, 
'  And,  Andrew,  thou  hast  far  to  go ! ' — 

•  Hast  far  to  go !'  the  fiend  replied 

Within  me, — 'twas  not  Andrew — no ! 
Twas  Andrew's  voice  no  more — 'twas  HE 
Whose  then  I  was,  and  aye  must  be  1 


THE  DEAD  DRUMMER.  243 

— "  On,  on  we  went ; — the  dreary  plain 

Was  all  around  us — we  were  Here  ! 
Then  came  the  storm, — the  lightning, — rain, — 

No  earthly  living  thing  was  near, 
Save  one  wild  raven  on  the  wing, 
— If  that,  indeed,  were  earthly  thing  ! 

"  I  heard  its  hoarse  and  screaming  voice 

High  hovering  o'er  my  frenzied  head, 
'  'Tis,  Gervase  Matcham,  at  thy  choice  ! 

But  he — the  Boy  ! '  methought  it  said 
— Nay,  Andrew,  check  that  vengeful  frown,  — 
I  loved  thee  when  I  struck  thee  down  ! 


"  'Twas  done !  the  deed  that  damns  me— -done 

I  know  not  how — I  never  knew ; — 
And  Here  I  stood — but  not  alone, — 

The  prostrate  Boy  my  madness  slew 
Was  by  my  side — limb,  feature,  name, 
'Twas  HE  !  ! — another — yet  the  same ! 


"  Away !  away  !  in  f rantio  haste 

Throughout  that  livtlong  night  I  flew — 
Away !  away ! — across  the  waste, — 

I  know  not  how — /  never  knew. — 
My  mind  was  one  wild  blank — and  I 
Had  but  one  thought, — one  hope — to  fly ! 

"  And  still  the  lightning  plough'd  the  ground, 

The  thunder  roar'd — and  there  would  come 
Amidst  its  loudest  bursts  a  sound 

Familiar  once — it  was — A  DKUM ! — 
Then  came  the  morn, — and  light,— and  then 
Streets, — houses, — spires, — the  hum  of  men. 

"  And  Ocean  roll'd  before  me — fain 

Would  I  have  whelm'd  me  in  its  tide. 
At  once  beneath  the  billowy  main 

My  shame,  my  guilt,  my  crime  to  hide  ; 
But  HE  was  there  ! — HE  cross'd  my  track, — 
I  dared  not  pass — HE  waved  me  back 


244  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

"  And  then  rude  hands  detain'd  me — suis 
Justice  had  grasp'd  her  victim — no ! 

Though  powerless,  hopeless,  bound,  secure, 
A  captive  thrall,  it  was  not  so ; 

They  cry, '  The  Frenchman's  on  the  wave  ! : 

The  press  was  hot — and  I  a  slave. 

"  They  dragg'd  me  o'er  the  vessel's  side  : 
The  world  of  waters  roll'd  below ; 

The  gallant  ship  in  all  her  pride 
Of  dreadful  beauty  sought  her  foe  ; 

— Thou  saw'st  me,  William,  in  the  strife — 

Alack  !  I  bore  a  charmed  life ! 

"  In  vain  the  bullets  round  me  fly, 

In  vain  mine  eager  breast  I  bare ; 
Death  shuns  the  wretch  who  longs  to  dfc, 

And  every  sword  falls  edgeless  there  ! 
Still  HE  is  near ;  and  seems  to  cry, 
'  Not  here,  not  thus,  may  Matcham  die ! ' 

"  Thou  saw'st  me  on  that  fearful  day, 
When,  fruitless  all  attempts  to  save, 

Our  pinnance  foundering  in  the  bay, 
The  boat's  crew  met  a  watery  grave,    - 

All,  all — save  ONE, — the  ravenous  sea 

That  swalloVd  all — rejected  MB  ! 

"  And  now,  when  fifteen  sums  have  each 
Fulfill'd  in  turn  its  circling  year, 

Thrown  back  again  on  England's  beach, 
Our  bark  paid  off— HE  drives  me  Here ! 

I  could  not  die  in  flood  or  fight — 

HE  drives  me  HERE  ! !  " — 

"  And  sarve  you  right. 

What !  bilk  your  Commander ! — desart — and  then  rob  1 
And  go  scuttling  a  poor  little  Drummer-boy's  nob  ; 
Why,  my  precious  eyes  !  what  a  bloodthirsty  swab  ! — 

There's  old  Davy  Jones,    Who  cracks  Sailors'  bones, 
For  his  jaw- work  would  never,  I'm  sure,  s'elp  me  Bob, 
Have  come  for  to  go  for  to  do  sich  a  job  ! 


THE  DEAD  DRUMMER.  245 

Hark   ye,  Waters, — or   Matcham, — whichever's   your  purser- 
name, 

— T'other,  your  own,  is,  I'm  sartain,  the  worser  name, — 
Twelve  years  have  we  lived  on  like  brother  and  brother  ! 
Now — your  course  lays  one  way,  and  mine  lays  another ! " — 

"  No,  William,  it  may  not  be  so  ; 

Blood  calls  for  blood ! — 'tis  Heaven's  decree ! 
And  thou  with  me  this  night  must  go, 

And  give  me  to  the  gallows-tree ! 
Ha ! — see — HE  smiles — HE  points  the  way  ! 
On,  William,  on  ! — no  more  delay !  " 

Now  Bill, — so  the  story,  as  told  me,  goes, 

And  who,  as  his  last  speech  sufficiently  shows, 

Was  a  "  regular  trump," — did  not  like  to  turn  Nose  ; 

But  then  came  a  thunder-clap  louder  than  any 

Of  those  that  preceded,  though  they  were  so  many, 

And  hark!  as  its  rumblings  subside  in  a  hum, 

What  sound  mingles  too  1 — by  the  hokey — A  DRUM  ! ! 


I  remember  I  once  heard  my  Grandfather  say, 
That  some  sixty  years  since  he  was  going  that  way, 

When  they  show'd  him  the  spot 

Where  the  gibbet — was  not — 

On  which  Matcham's  corse  had  been  hung  up  to  rot ; 
It  had  fall'n  down — but  how  long  before,  he'd  forgot ; 
And  they  told  him,  I  think,  at  the  Bear  in  Devizes, 
The  town  where  the  Sessions  are  held, — or  the  'Sizes, 

That  Matcham  confess'd,    And  made  a  clean  breast 
To  the  May'r  ;  but  that  after  he'd  had  a  night's  rest, 
And  the  storm  had  subsided,  he  "  pooh-pooh'd  "  his  friend, 
Swearing  all  was  a  lie  from  beginning  to  end ; 

Said  "  he'd  only  been  drunk  " —    That  his  spirits  had  sunk 
At  the  thunder — the  storm  put  him  into  a  funk, — 
That,  in  fact,  he  had  nothing  at  all  on  his  conscience, 
And  found  out,  in  short,  he'd  been  talking  great  nonsense. — 

But  now  one  Mr.  Jones    Conies  forth  and  depones 
That  fifteen  years  since,  he  had  heard  certain  groans 
On  his  way  to  Stonehenge  (to  examine  the  stones 


246  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Described  in  a  work  of  the  late  Sir  John  Soane's), 

That  he'd  followed  the  moans,    And,  led  by  their  tones, 
Found  a  Raven  a-picking  a  Drummer-boy's  bones ! — 
Then  the  Colonel  wrote  word 
From  the  King's  Forty-third, 

That  the  story  was  certainly  true  which  they'd  heard, 
For,  that  one  of  their  drummers,  and  one  Sergeant  Matcham, 
Had  "  brush'd  with  the  dibs,"  and  they  never  could  catch  'em. 

So  Justice  was  sure,  though  a  long  time  she'd  laggVi, 

And  the  Sergeant,  in  spite  of  his  "  Gammon,"  got  "  scragg'd  ; " 

And  people  averr'd    That  an  ugly  black  bird, 
The  Raven,  'twas  hinted,  of  whom  we  have  heard, 
Though  the  story,  I  own,  appears  rather  absurd, 
Was  seen  (Gervase  Matcham  not  being  interr'd) 
To  roost  all  that  night  on  the  murderer's  gibbet ; 
An  odd  thing,  if  so,  and  it  may  be  a  fib — it, 
However's  a  thing  Nature's  laws  don't  prohibit. 
— Next  morning  they  add,  that  "  black-gentleman  "  flies  out, 
Having  pick'd  Matcham's  nose  off,  and  gobbled  his  eyes  out 

MORAL. 

Avis  au  Voyageur. 

Imprimis. 

If  you  contemplate  walking  o'er  Salisbury  plain 
Consult  Mr.  Murphy,  or  Moore,  and  refrain 
From  selecting  a  day  when  it's  likely  to  rain  ! 

2°. 

When  travelling  don't  "  flash  "    Your  notes  or  your  cash 
Before  other  people — it's  foolish  and  rash ! 

3°. 

At  dinner  be  cautious,  and  note  well  your  party  ! — 
There's  little  to  dread  where  the  appetite's  hearty, — 
But  mind  and  look  well  to  your  purse  and  your  throttle 
When  you  see  a  man  shirking  and  passing  his  bottle ! 

4°. 

If  you  chance  to  be  needy,    Your  coat  and  hat  seedy, 
In  war  time  especially  never  go  out 
When  you've  reason  to  think  there's  a  press-gang  about ! 

5°. 

Don't  chatter,  nor  tell  people  all  that  you  think, 
Nor  blab  secrets, — especially  when  you're  in  drink. — 


A  ROW  JN  AN  OMNIBUS  (BOX).  247 

But  keep  your  own  counsel  in  all  that  you  do  ! 
— Or  a  Counsel  may,  some  day  or  other,  keep  you. 
6°. 

Discard  superstition ! — and  don't  take  a  post, 
If  you  happen  to  see  one  at  night,  for  a  Ghost ! 
— Last  of  all,  if  by  choice  or  convenience  you're  led 
To  cut  a  man's  throat,  or  demolish  his  head, 
Don't  do't  in  a  thunder-storm — wait  for  the  summer  ! 
And  mind,  above  all  things,  the  MAN'S  NOT  A  DRUMMER  ! ! 


8  &oto   in   an  <&mnftm$ 

A   LEGEND   OF  THE   HAYMARKET. 

Omnibus  hoc  vitium  cantoribus. — HOR. 

DOL-DRUM  the  Manager  sits  in  his  chair, 
With  a  gloomy  brow  and  dissatisfied  air, 
And  he  says,  as  he  slaps  his  hand  on  his  knee, 
"  111  have  nothing  to  do  with  Fiddle-de-dee  ! " 

— "  But  Fiddle-de-dee  sings  clear  and  loud, 

And  his  trills  and  his  quavers  astonish  the  crowd ; 

Such  a  singer  as  he    You'll  nowhere  see  : 
They'll  all  be  screaming  for  Fiddle-de-dee  ! " 

— "  Though  Fiddle-de-dee  sings  loud  and  clear, 
And  his  tones  are  sweet,  yet  his  terms  are  dear  ! 

The  '  glove  won't  fit ! '    The  deuce  a  bit 
I  shall  give  an  engagement  to  Fal-de-ral-tit ! " 

The  Prompter  bow'd,  and  he  went  to  his  stall, 
And  the  green  baize  rose  at  the  Prompter's  call, 
And  Fal-de-ral-tit  sang  f ol-de-rol-lol ; 

But  scarce  had  he  done,    When  a  "  row  "  begun, 
Such  a  noise  was  never  heard  under  the  sun. 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !—    —Where  is  he  1 
He's  the  Artiste  whom  we  all  want  to  see  ! — 

Dol-drum  ! — Dol-drum ! —    Bid  the  Manager  come, 
It's  a  scandalous  thing  to  exact  such  a  sum 


248  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

For  boxes  and  gallery,  stalls  and  pit, 
And  then  fob  us  off  with  a  Fal-de-ral-tit ! 

Deuce  a  bit !    We'll  never  submit ! 
Vive  Fiddle-de-dee  !  a  bos  Fal-de-ral-tit ! " 

Dol-drum  the  Manager  rose  from  his  chair, 
With  a  gloomy  brow  and  dissatisfied  air  ; 

But  he  smooth'd  his  brow    As  he  well  knew  how 
And  he  walk'd  on,  and  made  a  most  elegant  bow, 
And  he  paused,  and  he  smiled,  and  advanced  to  the  lights, 
In  his  opera-hat,  and  his  opera-tights  ; 
"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  then  said  he, 
"  Pray  what  may  you  please  to  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  Fiddle-de-dee  !—    Fiddle-de-dee  ! " 
Folks  of  all  sorts  and  of  every  degree, 
Snob,  and  Snip,  and  haughty  Grandee, 
Duchesses,  Countesses,  fresh  from  their  tea, 
And  Shopmen,  who'd  only  come  there  for  a  spree, 
Halloo'd,  and  hooted,  and  roar'd  with  glee 
"  Fiddle-de-dee  !—    None  but  He  !— 
Subscribe  to  his  terms,  whatever  they  be  ! — 
Agree,  agree,  or  you'll  very  soon  see 
In  a  brace  of  shakes  we'll  get  up  an  O.P. ! " 

Dol-drum  the  Manager,  full  of  care, 
With  a  gloomy  brow  and  dissatisfied  air, 

Looks  distrest,    And  he  bows  his  best, 
And  he  puts  his  right  hand  on  the  side  of  his  breast, 

And  he  says, — says  he,    "  We  can't  agree  •, 
His  terms  are  a  vast  deal  too  high  for  me. — 
There's  the  rent,  and  the  rates,  and  the  sesses,  and  taxes— 
I  can't  afford  Fiddle-de-dee  what  he  axes. 

If  you'll  only  permit    Fal-de-ral-tit " 

The  "  Generous  Public  "  cried,  "  Deuce  a  bit ! 

Dol-drum  ! — Dol-drum ! —    We'll  none  of  us  coma 
It's  '  No  Go  !  '—its  '  Gammon !  '—its  '  all  a  Hum  :  '— 

You're  a  miserly  Jew ! — '  Cock-a-doodle-do ! ' 
He  don't  ask  too  much,  as  you  know — so  you  do — 
If  s  a  shame — it's  a  sin — it's  really  too  bad — 
You  ought  to  be  'shamed  of  yourself — so  you  had ! 


A  ROW  IN  AN  OMNIBUS  (BOX).  2 

Dol-drum  the  Manager  never  before 

In  his  lifetime  had  heard  such  a  wild  uproar. 

Dol-drum  the  Manager  turn'd  to  flee ; 

But  he  says — says  he,    "  Mort  de  ma  vie  I 
I  shall  nevare  engage  vid  dat  Fiddle-de-dee  !  " 
Then  all  the  gentlefolks  flew  in  a  rage, 
And  they  jump'd  from  the  Omnibus  on  to  the  Stage, 
Lords,  Squires,  and  Knights,  they  came  down  to  the  lights 
In  their  opera-hats  and  their  opera-tights. 

Ma'am'selle  Cherrytoes    Shook  to  her  very  toes, 
She  couldn't  hop  on,  so  hopp'd  off  on  her  merry  toes, 
And  the  "  evening  concluded"  with  "  Three  times  three ! " 
"  Hip— hip !— hurrah !  for  Fiddle-de-dee ! " 

Dol-drum  the  Manager,  full  of  care, 
With  a  troubled  brow  and  dissatisfied  air, 

Saddest  of  men,    Sat  down,  and  then 
Took  from  his  table  a  Perryan  pen, 

And  he  wrote  to  the  "  News," 

How  Mac  Fuze  and  Tregooze, 
Lord  Tomnoddy,  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  of  the  Blues, 
And  the  whole  of  their  tail,  and  the  separate  crews 
Of  the  Tags  and  the  Rags,  and  the  No-one-knows-whos, 
Had  combined  Monsieur  Fal-de-ral-tit  to  abuse, 

And  make  Dol-drum  agree 

With  Fiddle-de-dee, 

Who  was  not  a  bit  better  singer  than  he. 
— Dol-drum  declared  "  he  never  could  see, 
For  the  life  of  him,  yet,  why  Fiddle-de  dee, 

Who  in  B  flat,  or  C,    Or  whatever  the  key, 
Could  never  at  any  time  get  below  G, 
Should  expect  a  fee  the  same  in  degree 
As  the  great  Burlybumbo  who  sings  double  D." 
Then  slily  he  adds  a  little  N.B., 
"  If  they'd  have  him  in  Paris  he'd  not  come  to  me  ! " 

The  Manager  rings,    And  the  Prompter  springs 
To  his  side  in  a  jiffy,  and  with  him  he  brings 
A  set  of  those  odd-looking  envelope  things, 
Where  Britannia  (who  seems  to  be  crucified)  flings 


50  THE  INGOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

To  her  right  and  her  left  funny  people  with  wings 
Amongst  Elephants,  Quakers,  and  Catabaw  Kings ; 

And  a  taper  and  wax 

And  small  Queen's  heads  in  packs, 

Which,  when  notes  are  too  big,  you're  to  stick  on  their  backs, 
Dol-drum  the  Manager  seal'd  with  care 
The  letter  and  copies  he'd  written  so  fair, 
And  sat  himself  down  with  a  satisfied  air ; 

Without  delay    He  sent  them  away, 
In  time  to  appear  in  "  our  columns  "  next  day ! 

Dol-drum  the  Manager,  full  of  care, 

Walk'd  on  to  the  stage  with  an  anxious  air, 

And  peep'd  through  the  curtain  to  see  who  were  there. 

There  was  Mac  Fuze, 

And  Lieutenant  Tregooze, 
And  there  was  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  of  the  Blues, 
And  the  Tags,  and  the  Rags,  and  the  No-one-knows-whos  ; 
And  the  green-baize  rose  at  the  Prompter's  call, 
And  they  all  began  to  hoot,  bellow,  and  bawl, 
And  cry  "  Cock-a-doodle,"  and  scream  and  squall 

"  Dol-drum ! — Dol-drum ! —    Bid  the  Manage*  cow*  I" 

You'd  have  thought  from  the  tones 

Of  their  hisses  and  groans, 

They  were  bent  upon  breaking  his  (Opera)  bones. 
And  Dol-drum  comes,  and  he  says — says  he, 
"  Pray  what  may  you  please  to  want  with  me  ? " — 
"  Fiddle-de-dee !—    Fiddle-de-dee  !— 
We'll  have  nobody  give  us  sol  fa  but  He ! 
For  he's  the  Artiste  whom  we  all  want  to  see." 

— Manager  Dol-drum  says — says  he — 

(And  he  looks  like  an  owl  in  a  "  hollow  beech-tree  " } 

"  Well,  since  I  see    The  thing  must  be, 
I'll  sign  an  agreement  with  Fiddle-de-dee ! " 

Then  Mac  Fuze,  and  Tregoose, 

And  Jenks  of  the  Blues, 

And  the  Tags,  and  the  Rags,  and  the  No-one-knows-whos, 
Extremely  delighted  to  hear  such  good  news, 
Desist  from  their  shrill  "  Cock-a-doodle-doos." 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT.  251 

"  Vive  Fiddle-de-dee  !    Dol-drum  and  He ! 
They  are  jolly  good  fellows  as  ever  need  be ! 
And  so's  Burlybumbo,  who  sings  double  D  1 
And  whenever  they  sing,  why,  we'll  all  come  and  see  !  " 

So,  after  all    This  terrible  squall, 

Fiddle-de-dee    's  at  the  top  of  the  tree, 
And  Dol-drum  and  Fal-de-ral-tit  sing  small ! 
Now  Fiddle-de-dee  sings  loud  and  clear 
At  I  can't  tell  you  how  many  thousands  a-year, 
And  Fal-de-ral-tit  is  consider'd  "  Small  Beer  j" 

And  Ma'am'selle  Cherrytoes    Sports  her  merry  toes, 
Dancing  away  to  the  fiddles  and  flutes, 
In  what  the  folks  call  a  "  Lithuanian  "  in  boots. 

So  here's  an  end  to  my  one,  two,  and  three ; 
And  bless  the  Queen — and  long  live  She ! 
And  grant  that  there  never  again  may  be 
Such  a  halliballoo  as  we've  happen'd  to  see 
About  nothing  on  earth  but  "  Fiddle-de-dee ! " 


Cfoe   £ap  of 

OR,     THE     DEVIL'S      DINNER-PARTY. 
A  LEGEND  OF  THE  NOKTH  COTTNTKEE. 

IT'S  in  Bolton  Hall,  and  the  clock  strikes  one, 
And  the  roast  meat's  brown  and  the  boil'd  meat's  done, 
And  the  barbecu'd  sucking-pig's  crisp'd  to  a  turn, 
And  the  pancakes  are  fried,  and  beginning  to  burn  ; 

The  fat  stubble-goose    Swims  in  gravy  and  juice, 
With  the  mustard  and  apple-sauce  ready  for  use  ; 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  and  all  of,  the  best, 
Want  nothing  but  eating — they're  all  ready  drest, 
But  where  is  the  Host,  and  where  is  the  Guest  ? 

Pantler  and  serving-man,  henchman  and  page, 
Stand  sniffing  the  duck-stuffing  (onion  and  sage), 

And  the  scullions  and  cooks,    With  fidgety  looks, 


252  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Are  grumbling  and  mutt'ring,  and  scowling  as  black 
As  cooks  always  do  when  the  dinner's  put  back ; 
For  though  the  board's  deckt,  and  the  napery,  fair 
As  the  unsunn'd  snow-flake,  is  spread  out  with  care, 
And  the  Dais  is  furnish'd  with  stool  and  with  chair, 
And  plate  of  orfeverie  costly  and  rare, 
Apostle-spoons,  salt-cellar,  all  are  there, 

And  Mess  John  in  his  place,    With  his  rubicund  face, 
And  his  hands  ready  folded,  prepared  to  say  Grace, 
Yet  where  is  the  Host  ? — and  his  convives — where  1 

The  Scroope  sits  lonely  in  Bolton  Hall, 

And  he  watches  the  dial  that  hangs  by  the  wall, 

He  watches  the  large  hand,  he  watches  the  small, 

And  he  fidgets  and  looks    As  cross  as  the  cooks, 
And  he  utters — a  word  which  well  soften  to  "  Zooks ! " 
And  he  cries,  "  What  on  earth  has  become  of  them  all  1 — 

What  can  delay    De  Vaux  and  De  Saye  ? 
What  makes  Sir  Gilbert  de  Umfraville  stay  ? 
What's  gone  with  Poyntz,  and  Sir  Reginald  Braye  ? 

"Why  are  Ralph  Ufford  and  Marny  away  ? 

And  De  Nokes  and  De  Styles,  and  Lord  Marmaduke  Grey  ? 

And  De  Roe  ?    And  De  Doe  1— 
Poynings,  and  Vavasour — where  be  they  1 
Fitz- Walter,  Fitz-Osbert,  Fitz-Hugh,  and  Fitz-John, 
And  the  Mandevilles,  pere  etfilz  (father  and  son)  1 
Their  cards  said  '  Dinner  precisely  at  One ! ' 

There's  nothing  I  hate,  in    The  world,  like  waiting ! 
It's  a  monstrous  great  bore,  when  a  Gentleman  feels 
A  good  appetite,  thus  to  be  kept  from  his  meals  ! " 

It's  in  Bolton  Hall,  and  the  clock  strikes  Two  ! 
And  the  scullions  and  cooks  are  themselves  in  "  a  stew," 
And  the  kitchen-maids  stand,  and  don't  know  what  to  do, 
For  the  rich  plum-puddings  are  bursting  their  bags, 
And  the  mutton  and  turnips  are  boiling  to  rags, 

And  the  fish  is  all  spoil'd,    And  the  butter's  all  oil'd, 
And  the  soup's  got  cold  in  the  silver  tureen, 
And  there's  nothing,  in  short,  that  is  fit  to  be  seen ! 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT.  253 

While  Sir  Guy  Le  Scroope  continues  to  fume, 
And  to  fret  by  himself  in  the  tapestried  room, 

And  still  fidgets,  and  looks    More  cross  than  the  cooks, 
And  repeats  that  bad  word,  which  we've  soften'd  to  "  Zooks  ! " 

Two  o'clock's  come,  and  Two  o'clock's  gone, 
And  the  large  and  the  small  hands  move  steadily  on, 
Still  nobody's  there,    No  De  Roos,  or  De  Clare, 
To  taste  of  the  Scroope's  most  delicate  fare, 
Or  to  quaff  off  a  health  unto  Bolton's  Heir, 
That  nice  little  boy  who  sits  in  his  chair, 
Some  four  years  old,  and  a  few  months  to  spare, 
With  his  laughing  blue  eyes  and  his  long  curly  hair, 
Now  sucking  his  thumb,  and  now  munching  his  pear. 

Again,  Sir  Guy  the  silence  broke, 

"  It's  hard  upon  Three ! — it's  just  on  the  stroke ! 

Come,  serve  up  the  dinner  ! — A  joke  is  a  joke  !  " 

Little  he  deems  that  Stephen  de  Hoaques, 

Who  "his  fun,"  as  the  Yankees  say,  everywhere  "pokes," 

And  is  always  a  great  deal  too  fond  of  his  jokes, 

Has  written  a  circular  note  to  De  Nokes, 

And  De  Stiles,  and  De  Roe,  and  the  rest  of  the  folks, 

One  and  all,    Great  and  small, 
Who  were  ask'd  to  the  Hall 
To  dine  there  and  sup,  and  wind  up  with  a  ball, 
And  had  told  all  the  party  a  great  bouncing  lie,  he 
Cook'd  up  that  "  the  fete  was  postponed  sine  die, 
The  dear  little  curly -wigg'd  heir  of  Le  Scroope 
Being  taken  alarmingly  ill  with  the  croup ! " 

When  the  clock  struck  Three,    And  the  Page  on  his  knee 
Said,  "  An't  please  you,  Sir  Guy  Le  Scroope,  On  a  servi ! " 
And  the  Knight  found  the  banquet-hall  empty  and  clear. 

With  nobody  near    To  partake  of  his  cheer, 
He  stamp'd,  and  he  storm'd — then  his  language  1 — Oh  dear  ! 
'Twas  awful  to  see,  and  'twas  awful  to  hear ! 
And  he  cried  to  the  button-deck'd  Page  at  his  knee, 
Who  had  told  him  so  civilly  "  On  a  servi," 
"  Ten  thousand  fiends  seize  them  wherever  they  be  I 
— The  Devil  take  them  !  and  the  Devil  take  thee  ! 
And  the  DEVIL  MAY  EAT  UP  THE  DINNER  FOB  ME  ! ! " 


254  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

In  a  terrible  fume    He  bounced  out  of  the  room, 
He  bounced  out  of  the  house — and  page,  footman,  and  groom, 
Bounced  after  their  master ;  •  for  scarce  had  they  heard 
Of  this  left-handed  Grace  the  last  finishing  word, 
Ere  the  horn  at  the  gate  of  the  Barbican  tower 
Was  blown  with  a  loud  twenty-trumpeter  power, 

And  in  rush'd  a  troop    Of  strange  guests ! — such  a  group 
As  had  ne'er  before  darken'd  the  door  of  the  Scroope  ! 
This  looks  like  De  Saye — yet — it  is  not  De  Saye — 
And  this  is — no,  'tis  not — Sir  Reginald  Braye — 
This  has  somewhat  the  favour  of  Marmaduke  Grey — 
But  stay  . — Where  on  earth  did  he  get  those  long  nails  ? 
Why,  they're  claws ! — then  Good  Gracious  ! — they've  all  of 

them  tails ! 

That  can't  be  De  Vaux — why,  his  nose  is  a  bill, 
Or,  I  would  say  a  beak ! — and  he  can't  keep  it  still  ! — 
Is  that  Poynings  ?— Oh  Gemini !  look  at  his  feet ! ! 
Why,  they're  absolute  hoofs ! — is  it  gout  or  his  corns 
That  have  crumpled  them  up  so  ? — by  Jingo,  he's  horns  / 
Eun !  run  !— There's  Fitz- Walker,  Fitz-Hugh,  and  Fitz-John, 
And  the  Mandevilles,  pere  etfilz  (father  and  son), 
And  Fitz-Osbert,  and  Ufford — they've  all  got  them  on ! 

Then  their  great  saucer  eyes —    It's  the  Father  of  lies 
And  his  Imps — run  !  run !  run ! — they're  all  fiends  in  disguise, 
Who've  partly  assumed,  with  more  sombre  complexions, 
The  forms  of  Sir  Guy  Le  Scroope's  friends  and  connections, 
And  He — at  the  top  there — that  grim-looking  elf — 
llun  !  run !  that's  the  "  muckle-horn'd  Clootie  "  himself ! 

And  now  what  a  din    Without  and  within ! 
For  the  court-yard  is  full  of  them. — How  they  begin 
To  mop,  and  to  mowe,  and  make  faces,  and  grin ! 

Cock  their  tails  up  together,    Like  cows  in  hot  weather, 
And  butt  at  each  other,  all  eating  and  drinking, 
The  viands  and  wine  disappearing  like  winking. 

And  then  such  a  lot    As  together  had  got ! 
Master  Cabbage,  the  steward,  who'd  made  a  machine 
To  calculate  with,  and  count  noses, — I  ween 
The  cleverest  thing  of  the  kind  ever  seen, — 

Declared,  when  he'd  made,    By  the  said  machine's  aid, 
Up,  what's  now  called,  the  "  tottle  "  of  those  he  survey'd, 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT.  25.' 

There  were  just — how  he  proved  it  I  cannot  divine, — 
Nine  thousand,  nine  hundred,  and  ninety,  and  nine. 

Exclusive  of  Him,    Who,  giant  in  limb, 
And  black  as  the  crow  they  denominate  Jim, 
With  a  tail  like  a  bull,  and  a  head  like  a  bear, 
Stands  forth  at  the  window, — and  what  holds  he  there, 

Which  he  hugs  with  such  care,    And  pokes  out  in  the  air 
And  grasps  as  its  limbs  from  each  other  he'd  tear  ? 

Oh  !  grief  and  despair !  I  vow  and  declare 
It's  Le  Scroope's  poor,  dear,  sweet,  little  curly-wigg'd  Heir ' 
Whom  the  nurse  has  forgot,  and  left  there  in  his  chair 
Alternately  sucking  his  thumb  and  his  pear. 

What  words  can  express    The  dismay  and  distress 
Of  Sir  Guy,  when  he  found  what  a  terrible  mess 
His  cursing  and  banning  had  now  got  him  into  ? 
That  words,  which  to  use  are  a  shame  and  a  sin  too, 
Had  thus  on  their  speaker  recoil'd,  and  his  malison 
Placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Devil's  own  "  pal "  his  son  ! — 

He  sobb'd  and  he  sigh'd,    And  he  scream'd,  and  he  cried 
And  behaved  like  a  man  that  is  mad  or  in  liquor, — he 
Tore  his  peak'd  beard,  and  he  dash'd  off  his  "  Vicary," 

Stamp'd  on' the  jasey    As  though  he  were  crazy, 
And  staggering  about  just  as  if  he  were  "  hazy," 
Exclaim'd  "  Fifty  pounds !  "  (a  large  sum  in  those  times) 
"  To  the  person,  whoever  he  may  be,  that  climbs 
To  that  window  above  there,  en  ogive,  and  painted, 
And  bring  down  my  curly-wi "  here  Sir  Guy  fainted ! 

With  many  a  moan,    And  many  a  groan, 
What  with  tweaks  of  the  nose,  and  some  eau  de  Cologne, 
He  revived, — Reason  once  more  remounted  her  throne, 
Or  rather  the  instinct  of  Nature, — 'twere  treason 
To  Her,  in  the  Scroope's  case,  perhaps,  to  say  Reason, 
But  what  saw  he  then  1 — Oh  !  my  goodness !  a  sight 
Enough  to  have  banish'd  his  reason  outright ! — 

In  that  broad  banquet  hall    The  fiends  one  and  all, 
Regardless  of  shriek,  and  of  squeak,  and  of  squall, 
From  one  to  another  were  tossing  that  small 
Pretty,  curly-wigg'd  boy,  as  if  playing  at  ball : 


256  THE  INGOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

Yet  none  of  his  friends  or  his  vassals  jaight  dare 

To  fly  to  the  rescue,  or  rush  up  the  stair, 

And  bring  down  in  safety  his  curly- wigg'd  Heir ! 

Well  a  day !  Well  a  day !  All  he  can  say 
Is  but  just  so  much  trouble  and  time  thrown  away ; 
Not  a  man  can  be  tempted  to  join  the  melee, 
E'en  those  words  cabalistic,  "  I  promise  to  pay 
Fifty  pounds  on  demand,"  have,  for  once,  lost  their  sway, 

And  there  the  Knight  stands,    Wringing  his  hands 
In  his  agony — when  on  a  sudden,  one  ray 
Of   hope  darts  through  his   midriff ! — His  Saint ! — Oh,  itt 
funny 

And  almost  absurd,    That  it  never  occurrtt  ! — 
"  Ay !  the  Scroope's  Patron  Saint ! — he's  the  man  for  my  money 
Saint — who  is  it  ? — really  I'm  sadly  to  blame, — 
On  my  word  I'm  afraid, — I  confess  it  with  shame, — 
That  I've  almost  forgot  the  good  Gentleman's  name, — 
Cut — let  me  see — Cutbeard  ? — no ! — CUTHBERT  ! — egad 
St  Cuthbert  of  Bolton !— I'm  right— he's  the  lad ! 
Oh,  holy  St  Cuthbert,  if  forbears  of  mine — 
Of  myself  I  say  little, — have  knelt  at  your  shrine, 
And   have   lash'd  their  bare  backs,    and — no    matter — with 
twine, 

Oh !  list  to  the  vow    Which  I  make  to  you  now, 
Only  snatch  my  poor  little  boy  out  of  the  row 
Which  that  Imp's  kicking  up  with  his  fiendish  bow-wow, 
And  his  head  like  a  bear,  and  his  tail  like  a  cow ! 
Bring  him  back  here  in  safety ! — perform  but  this  task, 
And  I'll  give ! — Oh ! — I'll  give  you  whatever  you  ask  ! — 

There  is  not  a  shrine    In  the  County  shall  shine 
With  a  brilliancy  half  so  resplendent  as  thine, 
Or  have  so  many  candles,  or  look  half  so  fine  ! — 
Haste,  holy  St  Cuthbert,  then, — hasten  in  pity ! " — 

— Conceive  his  surprise 

When  a  strange  voice  replies, 

"  It's  a  bargain ! — but,  mind,  sir,  THE  BEST  SPERMACETJ  !  * — 
Say,  whose  that  voice  ? — whose  that  form  by  his  side, 
That  old,  old,  grey  man,  with  his  beard  long  and  wide, 

In  his  coarse  Palmer's  weeds, 

And  his  cockle  and  beads  1— 


THE  LA  7   OF  ST.    CUTHBERT.  257 

And,  how  did  he  come  ? — did  he  walk  ? — did  he  ride  1 
Oh  !  none  could  determine, — oh  !  none  could  decide, — 
The  fact  is,  I  don't  believe  any  one  tried  ; 
For  while  ev'ry  one  stared,  with  a  dignified  stride, 

And  without  a  word  more,    He  march'd  on  before, 
Up  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  so  through  the  front  door, 
To  the  banqueting-hall,  that  was  on  the  first  floor, 
While  the  fiendish  assembly  were  making  a  rare 
Little  shuttlecock  there  of  the  curly- wigg'd  Heir. — 
— I  wish,  gentle  Reader,  that  you  could  have  seen 
The  pause  that  ensued  when  he  stepp'd  in  between, 
With  his  resolute  air,  and  his  dignified  mien, 
And  said,  in  a  tone  most  decided,  though  mild, 
"  Come ! — I'll  trouble  you  just  to  hand  over  that  child ! " 

The  Demoniac  crowd    In  an  instant  seem'd  cow'd  ; 
Not  one  of  the  crew  volunteer'd  a  reply, 
All  shrunk  from  the  glance  of  that  keen-flashing  eye, 
Save  one  horrid  Humgruffin,  who  seem'd  by  his  talk, 
And  the  airs  he  assumed,  to  be  Cock  of  the  walk, 
He  quail'd  not  before  it,  but  saucily  met  it, 
And  as  saucily  said,  "  Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it  ? " 

My  goodness  ! — the  look  that  the  old  Palmer  gave ! 

And  his  frown! — 'twas  quite    dreadful    to  witness — "Why, 

slave  ! 

You  rascal ! "  quoth  he,    "  This  language  to  ME  ! ! 
— At  once,  Mr.  Nicholas !  down  on  your  knee, 
And  hand  me  that  curly- wigg'd  boy  ! — I  command  it — 
Come  !— none  of  your  nonsense  ! — you  know  I  won't  stand  it" 

Old  Nicholas  trembled, — he  shook  in  his  shoes, 
And  seem'd  half  inclined,  but  afraid,  to  refuse. 

"  Well,  Cuthbert,"  said  he,    "  If  so  it  must  be, 
For  you've  had  your  own  way  from  the  first  time  I  knew 

ye;— 

Take  your  curly- wigg'd  brat,  and  much  good  may  he  do  ye  ! 
But  I'll  have  in  exchange  " — here  his  eye  flash'd  with  rage — 
u  That  chap  with  the  buttons — he  gave  me  the  Page  !  " — 

**  Come,  come,"  the  Saint  answer'd,  "  you  very  well  know 
The  young  man's  no  more  his  than  your  own  to  bestow — 
I 


258  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Touch  one  button  of  his  if  you  dare,  Nick — no !  no ! 

Cut  your  stick,  sir — come,  mizzle  !  be  off  with  you  !— go ! " — 

The  Devil  grew  hot—    "  If  I  do  I'll  be  shot ! 
An  you  come  to  that,  Cuthbert,  I'll  tell  you  what's  what ; 
He  has  asWd  us  to  dine  here,  and  go  we  will  not ! 

Why,  you  Skinflint, — at  least 

You  may  leave  us  the  feast ! 

Here  we've  come  all  that  way  from  our  brimstone  abode, 
Ten  million  good  leagues,  sir,  as  ever  you  strode, 
And  the  deuce  of  a  luncheon  we've  had  on  the  road — 
— '  Go ! ' — '  Mizzle ! '  indeed — Mr.  Saint,  who  are  you, 
I  should  like  to  know  ?— '  Go !  '—I'll  be  hang'd  if  I  do ! 
He  invited  us  all — we've  a  right  here — it's  known 
That  a  Baron  may  do  what  he  likes  with  his  own — 
Here,  Asmodeus— a  slice  of  that  beef ; — now  the  mustard  ! — 
What  have  you  got1? — oh,  apple-pie — try  it  with  custard!" 

The  Saint  made  a  pause    As  uncertain,  because 
He  knew  Nick  is  pretty  well  "  up  "  in  the  laws, 
And  they  might  be  on  his  side— and  then,  he'd  such  claws  ! 
On  the  whole,  it  was  better,  he  thought,  to  retire 
With  the  curly- wigg'd  boy  he'd  pick'd  out  of  the  fire, 
And  give  up  the  victuals — to  retrace  his  path, 
And  to  compromise— (spite  of  the  Member  for  Bath). 

So  to  old  Nick's  appeal,    As  he  turn'd  on  his  heel, 
He  replied,  "  Well,  I'll  leave  you  the  mutton  and  veal, 
And  the  soup  ct  la  Reine,  and  the  sauce  Bechamel ; 
As  the  Scroope  did  invite  you  to  dinner,  I  feel 
I  can't  well  turn  you  out— 'twould  be  hardly  genteel— 
But  be  moderate,  pray, — and  remember  thus  much, 
Since  you're  treated  as  Gentlemen,  show  yourselves  such, 

And  don't  make  it  late,    But  mind  and  go  straight 
Home  to  bed  when  you've  finish'd — and  don't  steal  the  plate, 
Nor  wrench  off  the  knocker,  or  bell  from  the  gate. 
Walk  away,  like  respectable  Devils,  in  peace, 
And  don't '  lark '  with  the  watch,  or  annoy  the  police  ! " 

Having  thus  said  his  say,    That  Palmer  grey 
Took  up  little  Le  Scroope,  and  walk'd  coolly  away, 
While  the  Demons  all  set  up  a  "  Hip !  hip !  hurray ! * 
Then  fell,  tooth  and  claw,  on  the  victuals,  as  they 
Had  been  guests  at  Guildhall  upon  Lord  Mayor's  day, 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT. 

All  scrambling  and  scuffling,  for  what  was  before  'em, 
No  care  for  precedence  or  common  decorum. 

Few  ate  more  hearty    Than  Madame  Astarte, 
And  Hecate, — consider 'd  the  Belles  of  the  party. 
Between  them  was  seated  Leviathan,  eager 
To  "  do  the  polite,"  and  take  wine  with  Belphegor ; 
Here  was  Morbleu  (a  French  devil),  supping  soup-meagre, 
And  there,  munching  leeks,  Davy  Jones  of  Tredegar 
(A  Welsh  one),  who'd  left  the  domains  of  Ap  Morgan 
To  "  follow  the  sea," — and  next  him  Demogorgon, — 
Then  Pan  with  his  pipes,  and  Fauns  grinding  the  organ 
To  Mammon  and  Belial,  and  half  a  score  dancers, 
Who'd  join'd  with  Medusa  to  get  up  "  the  Lancers  ; " 
— Here's  Lucifer  lying  blind  drunk  with  Scotch  ale, 
While  Beelzebub's  tying  huge  knots  in  his  tail. 
There's  Setebos,  storming  because  Mephistopheles 

Gave  him  the  lie,    Said  he'd  "  blacken  his  eye," 
And  dash'd  in  his  face  a  whole  cup  of  hot  coffee-lees ; — 

Ramping  and  roaring,    Hiccoughing,  snoring, 
Never  was  seen  such  a  riot  before  in 
A  gentleman's  house,  or  such  profligate  revelling 
At  any  soiree — where  they  don't  let  the  Devil  in. 

Hark ! — as  sure  as  fate    The  clock's  striking  Eight ! 
(An  hour  which  our  ancestors  call'd  "  getting  late,") 
When  Nick,  who  by  this  time  was  rather  elate, 
Rose  up  and  address'd  them. 

"  'Tis  full  time,"  he  said, 
"  For  all  elderly  Devils  to  be  in  their  bed  ; 
For  my  own  part  I  mean  to  be  jogging,  because 
I  don't  find  myself  now  quite  so  young  as  I  was  ; 
But,  Gentlemen,  ere  I  depart  from  my  post, 
I  must  call  on  you  all  for  one  bumper— the  toast 
Which  I  have  to  propose  is,— OUR  EXCELLENT  HOST  ! 
—Many  thanks  for  his  kind  hospitality— may 

We  also  be  able    To  see  at  our  table 
Himself,  and  enjoy,  in  a  family  way, 
His  good  company  down-stairs  at  no  distant  day  ! 

You'd,    I'm  sure,  think  me  rude    If  I  did  not  include 
In  the  toast  my  young  friend  there,  the  curly- wigg'd  Heir  1 


260  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

He's  in  very  good  hands,  for  you're  all  well  aware 
That  St.  Cuthbert  has  taken  him  under  his  care  ; 

Though  I  must  not  say  '  bless,' — 

— Why  you'll  easily  guess, — 

May  our  curly-wigg'd  Friend's  shadow  never  be  less  ! " 
Nick  took  off  his  heel-taps — bow'd— smiled— with  an  air 
Most  graciously  grim, — and  vacated  the  chair. — 

Of  course  the  elite    Rose  at  once  on  their  feet, 
And  follow'd  their  leader,  and  beat  a  retreat ; 
When  a  sky-larking  Imp  took  the  President's  seat, 
And,  requesting  that  each  would  replenish  his  cup, 
Said,  "  Where  we  have  dined,  my  boys,  there  let  us  sup ! : 
— It  was  three  in  the  morning  before  they  broke  up  ! ! ! 


I  scarcely  need  say  Sir  Guy  didn't  delay 
To  fulfil  his  vow  made  to  St.  Cuthbert,  or  pay 
For  the  candles  he'd  promised,  or  make  light  as  day 
The  shrine  he  assured  him  he'd  render  so  gay. 
In  fact,  when  the  votaries  came  there  to  pray, 
All  said  there  was  nought  to  compare  with  it— nay, 

For  fear  that  the  Abbey    Might  think  he  was  shabby, 
Four  Brethren  thenceforward,  two  cleric,  two  lay, 
He  ordain'd  should  take  charge  of  a  new-founded  chantry, 
With  six  marcs  apiece,  and  some  claims  on  the  pantry ; 

In  short,  the  whole  County 

Declared,  through  his  bounty, 
The  Abbey  of  Bolton  exhibited  fresh  scenes 
From  any  display^  since  Sir  William  de  Meschines, 
And  Cecily  Roumeli  came  to  this  nation 
With  William  the  Norman,  and  laid  its  foundation 

For  the  rest,  it  is  said,    And  I  know  I  have  r<  •  >  t 
In  some  Chronicle — whose,  has  gone  out  of  my  he;.  \  — 
That,  what  with  these  candles,  and  other  expenses, 
Which  no  man  would  go  to  if  quite  in  his  senses, 

He  reduced,  and  brought  low    His  property  so, 
That  at  last  he'd  not  much  of  it  left  to  bestow ; 
And  that,  many  years  after  that  terrible  feast, 
Sir  Guy,  in  the  Abbey,  was  living  a  Priest ; 
And  there,  in  one  thousand  and — something, — deceased. 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBEllT.  2T>1 

(It's  supposed  by  this  trick    He  bamboozled  Old  Nick 
And  slipp'd  through  his  fingers  remarkably  "  slick.") 
While,  as  to  young  Curly-wig, — dear  little  Soul, 
Would  you  know  more  of  him,  you  must  look  at  "  The  Roll," 

Which  records  the  dispute,    And  the  subsequent  suit, 
Commenced  in  "  Thirteen  seventy-five," — which  took  root 
In  Le  Grosvenor's  assuming  the  arms  Le  Scroope  swore 
That  none  but  his  ancestors,  ever  before, 
In  foray,  joust,  battle,  or  tournament  wore, 
To  wit,  "  On  a  Prussian-blue  Field,  a  Bend  Or;  " 
While  the  Grosvenor  averr'd  that  his  ancestor  bore 
The  same,  and  Scroope  lied  like  a — somebody  tore 
Off  the  simile, — so  I  can  tell  you  no  more, 
Till  some  A  double  S  shall  the  fragment  restore. 


MORAL. 
This  Legend  sound  maxims  exemplifies — e.g. 

Into.          Should  anything  tease  you, 

Annoy,  or  displease  you, 
Remember  what  Lilly  says,  "  Animum  rege  !" 
And  as  for  that  shocking  bad  habit  of  swearing,   - 
In  all  good  society  voted  past  bearing, — 
Eschew  it !  and  leave  it  to  dustmen  and  mobs, 
Nor  commit  yourself  much  beyond  "  Zooks !  "  or  "  Odd- 
bobs  ! " 

2do.   When  ask'd  out  to  dine  by  a  Person  of  Quality, 
Mind,  and  observe  the  most  strict  punctuality  ! 

For  should  you  come  late,    And  make  dinner  wait, 
And  the  victuals  get  cold,  you'll  incur,  sure  as  fate, 
The  Master's  displeasure,  the  Mistress's  hate. 
And — though  both  may,  perhaps,  be  too  well-bred  to 

swear, 
They  heartily  wish  you — I  need  not  say  Where. 

Stio.  Look  well  to  your  Maid-servants  ! — say  you  expect  them 
To  see  to  the  children,  and  not  to  neglect  them  ! 
And  if  you're  a  widower,  just  throw  a  cursory 
Glance  in,  at  times,  when  you  go  near  the  Nursery. 


262  THE  INGOLDSBV  LEGES DS. 

— Perhaps  it's  as  well  to  keep  children  from  plums, 

And  from  pears  in  the  season, — and  sucking  their  thumbs! 

4fc>.    To  sum  up  the  whole  with  a  "  Saw  "  of  much  use, 
"BejiMt  and  be  generous,— don't  be  profuse  ! — 
Pay  the  debts  that  you  owe, — keep  your  word  to  your 

friends, 
But — DON'T    SET    YOUR    CANDLES    ALIGHT   AT    BOTH 

ENDS ! ! — 

For  of  this  be  assured,  if  you  "  go  it "  too  fast, 
You'll  be  "  dish'd  "  like  Sir  Guy 
And  like  him,  perhaps,  die 
A  poor,  old,  half-starved,  Country  Parson  at  last  1 


of 

A   LEGEND    OF  BLOIS. 

SAINT  ALOYS 

Was  the  Bishop  of  Blois, 
And  a  pitiful  man  was  he, 

He  grieved  and  he  pined 

For  the  woes  of  mankind, 
And  of  brutes  in  their  degree,— 

He  would  rescue  the  rat 

From  the  claws  of  the  cat, 
And  set  the  poor  captive  free ; 

Though  his  cassock  was  swarming 

With  all  sorts  of  vermin, 
He'd  not  take  the  life  of  a  flea ! — 

Kind,  tender,  forgiving, 

To  all  things  living, 

From  injury  still  he'd  endeavour  to  screen  'em, 
Fish,  flesh,  or  fowl, — no  difference  between  'em- 

NlHIL  PUTAVIT  A  SE  ALIENUM. 

The  Bishop  of  Blois  was  a  holy  man, — 

A  holy  man  was  he ! 
For  Holy  Church 
He'd  seek  and  he'd  search 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ALOYS.  2GS 

As  a  Bishop  in  his  degree 
From  foe  and  from  friend 
He'd  "rap  and  he'd  rend," 

To  augment  her  treasurie. 
Nought  would  he  give,  and  little  he'd  lend, 
That  Holy  Church  might  have  more  to  spend — 

u  Count  Stephen  "  (of  Blois)  "  was  a  worthy  Peer, 
His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crown, 

He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear, 
And  so  he  call'd  the  Tailor  lown ! " — 

Had  it  been  the  Bishop  instead  of  the  Count, 

And  he'd  overcharged  him  to  half  the  amount, 
He  had  knock'd  that  Tailor  down ! — 
Not  for  himself ! —    He  despised  the  pelf ; 

He  dress'd  in  sackcloth,  he  dined  off  delf ; 

And,  when  it  was  cold,  in  lieu  of  a  surtout, 

The  good  man  would  wrap  himself  up  in  his  virtue. 

Alack !  that  a  man  so  holy  as  he, 

So  frank  and  free  in  his  degree, 

And  so  good  and  so  kind,  should  mortal  be ! 

Yet  so  it  is — for  loud  and  clear 

From  St.  Nicholas'  tower,  on  the  listening  ear, 

With  solemn  swell    The  deep-toned  bell 
Flings  to  the  gale  a  funeral  knell ; 

And  hark  ! — at  its  sound,    As  a  cunning  old  hound, 
When  he  opens,  at  once  causes  all  the  young  whelps 
Of  the  cry  to  put  in  their  less  dignified  yelps, 

So — the  little  bells  all,    No  matter  how  small, 
From  the  steeples  both  inside  and  outside  the  wall 

With  bell-metal  throat    Respond  to  the  note, 
And  join  the  lament  that  a  prelate  so  pious  is 
Forced  thus  to  leave  his  disconsolate  diocese, 

Or,  as  Blois'  Lord  May'r    Is  heard  to  declare, 
"  Should  leave  this  here  world  for  to  go  to  that  there." 

And  see,  the  portals  opening  wide, 
From  the  Abbey  flows  the  living  tide ; 

Forth  from  the  doors    The  torrent  pours, 
Acolytes,  Monks,  and  Friars  in  scores, 


264  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

This  with  his  chasuble,  that  with  his  rosary, 
This  from  his  incense-pot  turning  his  nose  awry, 

Holy  Father,  and  Holy  Mother, 

Holy  Sister,  and  Holy  Brother, 

Holy  Son,  and  Holy  Daughter, 

Holy  Wafer,  and  Holy  Water  ; 

Every  one  drest    Like  a  guest  in  his  best, 
In  the  smartest  of  clothes  they're  permitted  to  wear, 
Serge,  sackcloth,  and  shirts  of  the  same  sort  of  hair 
As  now  we  make  use  of  to  stuff  an  arm-chair, 
Or  weave  into  gloves  at  three  shillings  a  pair, 
And  employ  for  shampooing  in  cases  rheumatic,— a 
Special  specific,  I'm  told,  for  Sciatica. 

Through  groined  arch,  and  by  cloister'd  stone, 
With  mosses  and  ivy  long  o'ergrown, 

Slowly  the  throng    Come  passing  along, 
With  many  a  chaunt  and  solemn  song, 
Adapted  for  holidays,  high-days  and  Sundays  - 

Dies  irce,  and  De  profundis, 

Miserere,  and  Domine  dirige  nos, — 
Such  as,  I  hear,  to  a  very  slow  tune  are  all 
Commonly  chaunted  by  Monks  at  a  funeral, 

To  secure  the  defunct's  repose, 

And  to  give  a  broad  hint  to  Old  Nick,  should  the  news 
Of  a  prelate's  decease  bring  him  there  on  a  cruise, 
That  he'd  better  be  minding  his  Fs  and  his  Q's, 
And  not  come  too  near, — since  they  can,  if  they  choose 
Make  him  shake  in  his  hoofs — as  he  does  not  wear  shoes 

Still  on  they  go,    A  goodly  show, 
With  footsteps  sure,  though  certainly  slow, 
Two  by  two  in  a  very  long  row  ; 

With  feathers,  and  Mutes    In  mourning  suits, 
Undertaker's  men  walking  in  hat-bands  and  boots, — 
Then  comes  the  Crosier,  all  jewels  and  gold, 
Borne  by  a  lad  about  eighteen  years  old  ; 
Next,  on  a  black  velvet  cushion,  the  Mitre, 
Borne  by  a  younger  boy,  'cause  it  is  lighter. 
Eight  Franciscans,  sturdy  and  strong, 
Bear,  in  the  midst,  the  good  Bishop  along 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ALOYS.  2<>3 

Eight  Franciscans,  stout  and  tall, 

Walk  at  the  corners,  and  hold  up  the  pall 

Eight  more  hold  a  canopy  high  over  all, 
With  eight  Trumpeters  tooting  the  Dead  March,  in  Saul. — 
Behind,  as  Chief  Mourner,  the  Lord  Abbot  goes,  his 
Monks  coming  after  him,  all  with  posies, 
And  white  pocket-handkerchiefs  up  at  their  noses, 
Which  they  blow  whenever  his  Lordship  blows  his-  - 

And  oh !  'tis  a  comely  sight  to  see 

How  Lords  and  Ladies  of  high  degree, 

Vail,  as  they  pass,  upon  bended  knee, 
While  quite  as  polite  are  the  Squires  and  the  Knights, 
In  their  helmets,  and  hauberks,  and  cast-iron  tights. 

Ay,  'tis  a  comely  sight  to  behold, 

As  the  company  march 

Through  the  rounded  arch 

Of  that  Cathedral  old  !- 
Singers  behind  'em,  and  singers  before  'em, 
All  of  them  ranging  in  due  decorum, 
Around  the  inside  of  the  Sanctum  Sanctorum, 

While  brilliant  and  bright    An  unwonted  light 
(I  forgot  to  premise  this  was  all  done  at  night) 
The  links,  and  the  torches,  and  flambeaux  shed 
On  the  sculptured  forms  of  the  Mighty  Dead, 
That  rest  below,  mostly  buried  in  lead, 
And  above,  recumbent  in  grim  repose, 

With  their  mailed  hose, 

And  their  dogs  at  their  toes, 

And  little  boys  kneeling  beneath  them  in  rows, 
Their  hands  join'd  in  pray'r,  all  in  very  long  clothes, 
With  inscriptions  on  brass,  begging  each  who  survives, 
As  they  some  of  them  seem  to  have  led  so-so  lives, 
To  ipraie  (or  tfjc  Sotoks  of  themselves  and  their  wives. — 
— The  effect  of  the  music,  too,  really  was  fine, 
When  they  let  the  good  prelate  down  into  his  shrine, 

And  by  old  and  young    The  "  Requiem  "  was  sung  ; 
Not  vernacular  French,  but  a  classical  tongue, 
That  is — Latin — I  doii't  think  they  meddled  with  Greek— 
In  short,  the  whole  thii.g  produced — so  to  speak — 
What  in  Blois  they  would  call  a  Coup  d'ceil  magniftque  I 


266  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Yet,  surely,  when  the  level  ray 

Of  some  mild  eve's  descending  sun 
Lights  on  the  village  pastor,  grey 

In  years  ere  ours  had  well  begun — 

As  there — in  simplest  vestment  clad, 
He  speaks,  beneath  the  churchyard  tree, 

In  solemn  tones, — but  yet  not  sad. — 
Of  what  Man  is — what  Man  shall  be ! 

And  clustering  round  the  grave,  half  hid 

By  that  same  quiet  churchyard  yew, 
The  rustic  mourners  bend,  to  bid 

The  dust  they  loved  a  last  adieu — 

— That  ray,  methinks,  that  rests  so  sheen 
Upon  each  briar-bound  hillock  green, 
So  calm,  so  tranquil,  so  serene, 
Gives  to  the  eye  a  fairer  scene, — 
Speaks  to  the  heart  with  holier  breath 
Than  all  this  pageantry  of  Death. — 

But  cliacun  a  son  gout — this  is  talking  at  random — 
We  all  know  "  De  Gustibus  non  disputandum  !  " 
So  canter  back,  Muse,  to  the  scene  of  your  story 

The  Cathedral  of  Blois—    Where  the  Sainted  Aloys 
Is  by  this  time,  you'll  find,  "  left  alone  in  his  glory," 
"  In  the  dead  of  the  night,"  though  with  labour  opprest, 
Some  "  mortals  "  disdain  "  the  calm  blessings  of  rest ; " 
Your  cracksman,  for  instance,  thinks  night-time  the  best 
To  break  open  a  door,  or  the  lid  of  a  chest ; 
And  the  gipsy  who  close  round  your  premises  prowls, 
To  ransack  your  hen-roost,  and  steal  all  your  fowls, 
Always  sneaks  out  at  night  with  the  bats  and  the  owls, 
— So  do  Witches  and  Warlocks,  Ghosts,  Goblins,  and  Ghouls 
To  say  nothing  at  all  of  those  troublesome  "  Swells  " 
Who  eome  from  the  playhouses  "  flash  kens ,"  and  "  hells," 
To  pull  off  people's  knockers,  and  ring  people's  bells. 

Well — 'tis  now  the  hour    HI  things  have  power ! 
And  all  who,  in  Blois,  entertain  honest  views, 
Have  long  been  in  bed,  and  enjoying  a  snooze, — 

Nought  is  waking    Save  Mischief  and  "  Faking," 
And  a  few  who  are  sitting  up  brewing  or  baking, 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ALOYS.  267 

When  an  ill-looking  Infidel,  sallow  of  hue, 

Who  stands  in  his  slippers  some  six  feet  two 

(A  rather  remarkable  height  for  a  Jew), 

Creeps  cautiously  out  of  the  churchwarden's  pew, 

Into  which,  during  service,  he  managed  to  slide  himself — 

While  all  were  intent  on  the  anthem — and  hide  himself. 


From  his  lurking-place,    With  stealthy  pace, 
Through  the  "  long-drawn  aisle  "  he  begins  to  crawl, 
As  you  see  a  cat  walk  on  the  top  of  the  wall, 
When  it's  stuck  full  of  glass,  and  she  thinks  she  shall  fall 

— He  proceeds  to  feel    For  his  flint  and  his  steel 
(An  invention  on  which  we've  improved  a  great  deal 
Of  late  years — the  substitute  best  to  rely  on 
's  what  Jones  of  the  Strand  calls  his  Pyrogeneiori), 

He  strikes  with  dispatch ! — his    Tinder  catches ! — 
Now,  where  is  his  candle  1 — and  where  are  his  matches  ?— 

'Tis  done ! — they  are  found ! — 

He  stands  up  and  looks  round 
By  the  light  of  a  "  dip  "  of  sixteen  to  the  pound ! 
— What  is  it  now  that  makes  his  nerves  to  quiver  ? — 
His  hand  to  shake — and  his  limbs  to  shiver  1 — 
Fear  1 — pooh ! — it  is  only  a  touch  of  the  liver — 

All  is  silent — all  is  still — 

It's  "  gammon  " — it's  "  stuff ! " — he  may  do  what  he  will ! 
Carefully  now  he  approaches  the  shrine, 
la  which,  as  I've  mention'd  before,  about  nine, 
They  had  placed  in  such  state  the  lamented  Divine ! 
But  not  to  worship — No ! — No  such  thing ! — 
His  aim  is — TO  "  PRIG  "  THE  PASTORAL  RING  !  1 

Fancy  his  fright,    When,  with  all  his  might 
Having  forced  up  the  lid,  which  they'd  not  fasten'd  quite, 
Of  the  marble  sarcophagus — "  All  in  white  " 
The  dead  Bishop  started  up,  bolt  upright 
On  his  hinder  end, — and  grasp'd  him  so  tight, 

That  the  clutch  of  a  kite,    Or  a  bull-dog's  bite 
When  he's  most  provoked  and  in  bitterest  spite, 
May  well  be  conceived  in  comparison  slight, 
And  having  thus  "  tackled  "  him— blew  out  his  light ! ! 


268  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  dear !    The  fright  and  the  fear ! — 

No  one  to  hear — nobody  near ! 
In  the  dead  of  the  night ! — at  a  bad  time  of  year  1 — 
A  defunct  Bishop  squatting  upright  on  his  bier, 
And  shouting  so  loud,  that  the  drum  of  his  ear 
He  thought  would  have  split  as  these  awful  words  met  it 
"An!  HA!  MY  GOOD  FRIEND!  DON'T  YOU  WISH  YOU 
GET  IT?"— 

Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear  !    'Twas  a  night  of  fear ! 
— I  should  just  like  to  know,  if  the  boldest  man  here, 
In  his  situation  would  not  have  felt  queer  ? 

The  wretched  man  bawls,    And  he  yells  and  he  squalls, 
But  there's  nothing  responds  to  his  shrieks  save  the  walls, 
And  the  desk,  and  the  pulpit,  the  pews,  and  the  stalls. 
Held  firmly  at  bay,    Kick  and  plunge  as  he  may, 
His  struggles  are  fruitless — he  can't  get  away, 
He  really  can't  tell  what  to  do  or  to  say, 
And  being  a  Pagan,  don't  know  how  to  pray  ; 
Till  through  the  east  window,  a  few  streaks  of  grey 
Announce  the  approach  of  the  dawn  of  the  day ! 

Oh,  a  welcome  sight    Is  the  rosy  light 
Which  lovelily  heralds  a  morning  bright, 
Above  all  to  a  wretch  kept  in  durance  all  night 
By  a  horrid  dead  gentleman  holding  him  tight, — 
Of  all  sorts  of  gins  that  a  trespasser  can  trap, 
The  most  disagreeable  kind  of  a  man  trap ! 

— Oh !  welcome  that  bell's    Matin  chime,  which  tellfe 
To  one  caught  in  this  worst  of  all  possible  snares, 
That  the  hour  is  arrived  to  begin  Morning  Prayers, 
And  the  Monks  and  the  Friars  are  coming  down-stairs ! — 

Conceive  the  surprise    Of  the  Choir — how  their  eye , 
Are  distended  to  twice  their  original  size, — 
How  some  begin  bless, — some  anathematize, — 
And  all  look  on  the  thief  as  old  Nick  in  disguise. 
While  the  mystified  Abbot  cries,  "  Well ! — I  declare ! — 
— This  is  really  a  very  mysterious  atfair ! 
Bid  the  bandy-legg'd  Sexton  go  run  for  the  May'r !  " 

The  May'r  and  his  suite    Are  soon  on  their  feet, — 
(His  worship  kept  house  in  the  very  same  street, — ) 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ALOYS.  269 

At  once  he  awakes,    "  His  compliments  "  makes 
"  He'll  be  up  at  the  church  in  a  couple  of  shakes  ! 
Meanwhile  the  whole  Convent  is  pulling  and  hauling, 

And  bawling  and  squalling,    And  terribly  mauling, 
The  thief  whose  endeavour  to  follow  his  calling 
Had  thus  brought  him  into  a  grasp  so  enthralling.— 

Now  high,  now  low,    They  drag  "  to  and  fro," — 
Now  this  way,  now  that  way  they  twist  him — but-  -No ! 
The  glazed  eye  of  St.  Aloys  distinctly  says,  "  Poh  ! 
5Tou  may  pull  as  you  please,  I  shall  not  let  him  go  ! " 
Nay,  more ; — when  his  worship  at  length  came  to  say 
He  was  perfectly  ready  to  take  him  away, 
And  fat  him  to  grace  the  next  Auto-da-fe, 

Still  closer  he  prest    The  poor  wretch  to  his  breast, 
While  a  voice — though  his  jaws  still  together  were  jamm'd — 

Was  heard  from  his  chest,  "  If  you  do,  I'll "  here  slamm'd 

The  great  door  of  the  church, — with  so  awful  a  sound 
That  the  close  of  the  good  Bishop's  sentence  was  drown'd ! 

Out  spake  Frere  Jehan,    A  pitiful  man, 

Oh  !  a  pitiful  man  was  he ! 
And  he  wept  and  he  pined    For  the  sins  of  mankind, 

As  a  Friar  in  his  degree. 
"  Remember,  good  gentlefolks,"  so  he  began, 
"  Dear  Aloys  was  always  a  pitiful  man  ! — 

That  voice  from  his  chest    Has  clearly  exprest 
He  has  pardon'd  the  culprit — and  as  for  the  rest, 
Before  you  shall  burn  him — he'll  see  you  all  blest ! " 

The  Monks,  and  the  Abbot,  the  Sexton,  and  Clerk 
Were  exceedingly  struck  with  the  Friar's  remark, 
And  the  Judge,  who  himself  was  by  no  means  a  shark 
Of  a  Lawyer,  and  who  did  not  do  things  in  the  dark, 
But  still  lean'd  (having  once  been  himself  a  gay  spark) 
To  the  merciful  side, — like  the  late  Allan  Park,  — 

Agreed  that,  indeed,    The  best  way  to  succeed, 
And  by  which  this  poor  caitiff  alone  could  be  freed, 
Would  be  to  absolve  him,  and  grant  a  free  pardon, 
On  a  certain  condition,  and  that  not  a  hard  one, 
Viz. — "  That  he,  the  said  Infidel,  straightway  should  ope 
His  mind  to  conviction,  and  worship  the  Pope, 
And  '  ev'ry  man  Jack '  in  an  amice  or  cope ; 


270  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  that,  to  do  so,    He  should  forthwith  go 
To  Rome,  and  salute  there  his  Holiness'  toe ; — 

And  never  again    Read  Voltaire  or  Tom  Paine, 
Or  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  or  Lord  Byron's  Cain  ; — 
His  pilgrimage  o'er,  take  St.  Francis's  habit  ;— 
If  anything  lay  about  never  to  '  nab '  it ; 
Or,  at  worst,  if  he  should  light  on  articles  gone  astray, 
To  be  sure  and  deposit  them  straight  in  the  Monast'ry  ! ' 

The  oath  he  took —    As  he  kiss'd  the  book, 
Nave,  transept,  and  aisle  with  a  thunder-clap  shook ! 
The  Bishop  sank  down  with  a  sanctified  look, 

And  the  Thief,  released    By  the  saint  deceased 
Fell  into  the  arms  of  a  neighbouring  Priest ! 

It  skills  not  now    To  tell  you  how 
The  transmogrified  Pagan  performed  his  vow ; 

How  he  quitted  his  home,    Travell'd  to  Rome, 
And  went  to  St.  Peter's  and  look'd  at  the  Dome, 
And  obtain'd  from  the  Pope  an  assurance  of  bliss, 
And  kiss'd — whatever  he  gave  him  to  kiss — 
Toe,  relic,  embroidery,  nought  came  amiss  ; 

And  how  Pope  Urban    Had  the  man's  turban 
Hung  up  in  the  Sistine  chapel,  by  way 
Of  a  relic — and  how  it  hangs  there  to  this  day. — 

Suffice  it  to  tell,    Which  will  do  quite  as  well, 
That  the  whole  of  the  Convent  the  miracle  saw, 
And  the  Abbot's  report  was  sufficient  to  draw 
Ev'ry  bon  Catholique  in  la  belle  France  to  Blois, 
Among  others,  the  Monarch  himself,  Francois, 
The  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  and  his  "  Pious  Jackdaw,"* 
And  there  was  not  a  man  in  Church,  Chapel,  or  Meeting- 
house, 
Btill  less  in  Cabaret,  Hotel,  or  Eating-house, 

But  made  an  oration,    And  said,  "  In  the  nation 
If  ever  a  man  deserved  canonization, 
It  was  the  kind,  pitiful,  pious  Aloys." — 

So  the  Pope  says— says  he,  "  Then  a  saint  he  shall  be !  "— 
So  he  made  him  a  Saint,  and  remitted  the  fee. 
*  Vide  page  50. 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS.  271 

What  became  of  the  Pagan  I  really  can't  say ; 

But  I  think  I've  been  told,    When  he'd  enter'd  their  fold, 
And  was  now  a  Franciscan  some  twenty  days  old, 
He  got  up  one  fine  morning  before  break  of  day, 
Put  the  Pyx  in  his  pocket — and  then  ran  away. 

MORAL. 

I  think  we  may  coax  out  a  moral  or  two 

From  the  facts  which  have  lately  come  under  our  view. 

First — Don't  meddle  with  Saints  !  for  you'll  find  if  you  do 

They're  what  Scotch  people  call  "  kittle  cattle  to  shoe ! " 

And  when  once  they  have  managed  to  take  you  in  tow, 

It's  a  deuced  hard  matter  to  make  them  let  go  ! 

Now  to  you,  wicked  Pagans ! — who  wander  about, 

Up  and  down  Eegent  Street  every  night,  "  on  the  scout," — 

Recollect  the  Police  keep  a  sharpish  look-out, 

And  if  once  you're  suspected,  your  skirts  they  will  stick  to 

Till  they  catch  you  at  last  in  flagrante  delicto ! 

Don't  the  inference  draw    That  because  he  of  Blois 
Suffer'd  one  to  bilk  "  Old  father  Antic  the  Law," 
That  our  May'rs  and  owr  Aldermen — and  we've  a  City  full- 
Show  themselves,  at  our  Guildhall,  quite  so  pitiful ! 

Lastly,  as  to  the  Pagan  who  play'd  such  a  trick, 
First  assuming  the  tonsure,  then  cutting  his  stick, 
There  is  but  one  thing  which  occurs  to  me — that 
Is — Don't  give  too  much  credit  to  people  who  "  rat ! " 

— Never  forget    Early  habit's  a  net 
Which  entangles  us  all,  more  or  less,  in  its  mesh ; 
And,  "  What's  bred  in  the  bone  won't  come  out  of  the  flesh  ! " 
We  must  all  be  aware  Nature's  prone  to  rebel,  as 
Old  Juvenal  tells  us,  Naturam  expellas 

Tamen  usque  recurret  I    There's  no  use  making  Her  rat ! 

So  that  all  that  I  have  on  this  head  to  advance 

Is, — whatever  they  think  of  these  matters  in  France, 

There's  a  proverb,  the  truth  of  which  each  one  allows  here, 

"  YOU  NEVER  CAN  MAKE  A  SILK  PURSE  OP  A   SOW'S  EAR  ! " 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


Cfte  Cap  of  tl)t  <®l&  Wvmm  Ctotfjefc  in 


A  LEGEND  OF   DOVER. 

ONCE  there  lived,  as  I've  heard  people  say, 
An  "  Old  Woman  clothed  in  grey," 

So  furrow'd  with  care,    So  haggard  her  air, 
In  her  eye  such  a  wild  supernatural  stare, 

That  all  who  espied  her,    Immediately  shied  her, 
And  strove  to  get  out  of  her  way. 

This  fearsome  Old  Woman  was  taken  ill  ; 

—  She  sent  for  the  Doctor  —  he  sent  her  a  pill, 

And  by  way  of  a  trial,    A  two-shilling  phial, 
Of  green-looking  fluid,  like  lava  diluted, 
To  which  I've  profess'd  an  abhorrence  most  rooted. 
One  of  those  draughts  they  so  commonly  send  us, 
Labell'd,  "  Haustus  catkarticus,  mane  sumendus  ;  "  — 

She  made  a  wry  face,    And,  without  saying  Grace, 
Toss'd  it  off  like  a  dram  —  it  improved  not  her  case. 

The  Leech  came  again  ;    He  now  open'd  a  vein, 
Still  the  little  Old  Woman  continued  in  pain. 
So  her  "  Medical  Man,"  although  loth  to  distress  her, 
Conceived  it  high  time  that  her  Father  Confessor 
Should  be  sent  for  to  shrive,  and  assoilzie,  and  bless  her, 
That  she  might  not  slip  out  of  these  troublesome  scenes 
"  Unaneal'd  and  Unhousel'd,"  —  whatever  that  means. 

Growing  afraid,    He  calls  to  his  aid 
A  bandy-legg'd  neighbour,  a  "  Tailor  by  trade" 

Tells  him  his  fears,    Bids  him  lay  by  his  shears, 
His  thimble,  his  goose,  and  his  needle,  and  hie 
With  all  possible  speed  to  the  Convent  hard  by, 

Requests  him  to  say    That  he  begs  they'll  all  pray, 
Viz  :  The  whole  pious  brotherhood,  Cleric  and  Lay, 
For  the  soul  of  an  Old  Woman  clothed  in  grey, 
Who  was  just  at  that  time  in  a  very  bad  way, 
And  he  really  believed  couldn't  last  out  the  day  ;— 

And  to  state  his  desire    That  some  erudite  Friar, 
Would  run  over  at  once,  and  examine,  and  try  her  ; 


THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  273 

For  lie  thought  he  would  find 

There  was  "  something  behind," 

A  something  that  weigh'd  on  the  Old  Woman's  mind, — 
"  In  fact,  he  was  sure,  from  what  fell  from  her  tongue, 
That  this  little  Old  Woman  had  done  something  wrong." 
Then  he  wound  up  the  whole  with  this  hint  to  the  man, 
"  Mind  and  pick  out  as  holy  a  friar  as  you  can  ! " 

Now  I'd  have  you  to  know    That  this  story  of  woe, 
Which  I'm  telling  you,  happen'd  a  long  time  ago  ; 
I  can't  say  exactly  how  long,  nor,  I  own, 
What  particular  monarch  was  then  on  the  throne, 
But  'twas  here  in  Old  England  :  and  all  that  one  knows  is, 
It  must  have  preceded  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 

Inasmuch  as  the  times    Described  in  these  rhymes, 
Were  as  fruitful  in  virtues  as  ours  are  in  crimes ; 

And  if  'mongst  the  Laity    Unseemly  gaiety 
Sometimes  betray'd  an  occasional  taint  or  two, 

At  once  all  the  clerics    Went  into  hysterics, 
While  scarcely  a  convent  but  boasted  its  Saint  or  two ; 
So  it  must  have  been  long  ere  the  line  of  the  Tudors, 

As  since  then  the  breed    Of  Saints  rarely  indeed 
With  their  dignified  presence  have  darken'd  our  pew  doors. 

— Hence  the  late  Mr.  Froude  and  the  live  Dr.  Pusey 
We  moderns  consider  as  each  worth  a  Jew's  eye  ; 
Though  Wiseman  and  Dullman  combine  against  Newman, 
With  Doctors  and  Proctors,  and  say  he's  no  true  man. 
— But  this  by  the  way, — The  Convent  I  speak  about 
Had  Saints  in  scores — they  said  Mass  week  and  week  about ; 
And  the  two  now  on  duty  were  each,  for  their  piety, 
"  Second  to  none  "  in  that  holy  society, 

And  well  might  have  borne 

Those  words  which  are  worn 

By  our  "  Nulli  Secundus  "  Club — poor  dear  lost  muttons, — 
Of  Guardsmen — on  Club  days,  inscribed  on  their  buttons.—- 

They  would  read,  write,  and  speak 

Latin,  Hebrew,  and  Greek, 
A  radish-bunch  munch  for  a  lunch, — or  a  leek  ; 

Though  scoffers  and  boobies    Ascribe  certain  rubies 


274  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

That  garnish'd  the  nose  of  the  good  Father  Hilary 
To  the  overmuch  use  of  Canary  and  Sillery, 
— Some  said  spirituous  compounds  of  viler  distillery — 
Ah  !  little  reck'd  they    That  with  Friars,  who  say 
Fifty  Paters  a  night,  and  a  hundred  a  day, 
A  very  slight  sustenance  goes  a  great  way — 
Thus  the  consequence  was  that  his  colleague,  Basilius, 
Won  golden  opinions,  by  looking  more  bilious, 
From  all  who  conceived  strict  monastical  duty 
By  no  means  conducive  to  personal  beauty  ; 
And  being  more  meagre,  and  thinner,  and  paler, 
He  was  snapt  up  at  once  by  the  bandy-leggM  Tailor. 

The  latter's  concern    For  a  speedy  return 
Scarce  left  the  Monk  time  to  put  on  stouter  sandals, 
Or  go  round  to  his  shrines,  and  snuff  all  his  Saint's  candles  ; 
Still  less  had  he  leisure  to  change  the  hair-shirt  he 
Had  worn  the  last  twenty  years — probably  thirty, — 
Which  not  being  wash'd  all  that  time,  had  grown  dirty. 

— It  seems  there's  a  sin  in    The  wearing  clean  linen, 
Which  Friars  must  eschew  at  the  very  beginning, 
Though  it  makes  them  look  frowsy,  and  drowsy,  and  blowsy, 
And — a  rhyme  modern  etiquette  never  allows  ye. — 

As  for  the  rest,    E'en  if  time  had  not  prest, 
It  didn't  much  matter  how  Basil  was  drest, 
Nor  could  there  be  any  great  need  for  adorning, 
The  night  being  almost  at  odds  with  the  morning. 

Oh !  sweet  and  beautiful  is  Night,  when  the  silver  moon  is 
high, 

And  countless  Stars,  like  clustering  gems,  hang  sparkling  in 
the  sky, 

While  the  balmy  breath  of  the  summer  breeze  comes  whisper- 
ing down  the  glen, 

And  one  fond  voice  alone  is  heard — Oh !  Night  is  lovely  then  ! 

But  when  that  voice,  in  feeble  moans  of  sickness  and  of  pain, 

But  mocks  the  anxious  ear  that  strives  to  catch  its  sound  in 
vain, — 

When  silently  we  watch  the  bed,  by  the  taper's  flickering 
light, 

Where  all  we  love  is  fading  fast — how  terrible  is  Night !  I 


«  THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  275 

More  terrible  yet,    If  you  happen  to  get 
By  an  old  woman's  bedside,  who,  all  her  life  long, 
Has  been,  what  the  vulgar  call,  "  coming  it  strong  " 
In  all  sorts  of  ways  that  are  naughty  and  wrong. — 


As  Confessions  are  sacred,  it's  not  very  facile 
To  ascertain  what  the  old  hag  said  to  Basil ; 

But  whatever  she  said,    It  fill'd  him  with  dread, 
And  made  all  his  hair  stand  on  end  on  his  head, — 
No  great  feat  to  perform,  inasmuch  as  said  hair 
Being  clipp'd  by  the  tonsure,  his  crown  was  left  bare, 
So  of  course  Father  Basil  had  little  to  spare  ; 

But  the  little  he  had    Seem'd  as  though  't  had  gone  mad, 
Each  lock,  as  by  action  galvanic,  uprears 
In  the  two  little  tufts  on  the  tops  of  his  ears. — 

What  the  old  woman  said 

That  so  "  fill'd  him  with  dread," 
We  should  never  have  known  any  more  than  the  dead, 
If  the  bandy-legg'd  Tailor,  his  errand  thus  sped, 
Had  gone  quietly  back  to  his  needle  and  thread, 

As  he  ought ;  but  instead,    Curiosity  led, — 
A  feeling  we  all  deem  extremely  ill-bred, — 
He  contrived  to  secrete  himself  under  the  bed  ! 

— Not  that  he  heard    One  half,  or  a  third 
Of  what  pass'd  as  the  Monk  and  the  Patient  conferr'd, 
But  he  here  and  there  managed  to  pick  up  a  word, 

Such  as  "  Knife,"  and  "  Life," 
And  he  thought  she  said  "  Wife," 
And  "  Money,"  that  "  source  of  all  evil  and  strife  ; " 
Then  he  plainly  distinguished  the  words  "  Gore,"  and  "  Gash," 
Whence  he  deem'd — and  I  don't  think  his  inference  rash — 
She  had  cut  some  one's  throat  for  the  sake  of  his  cash ! 

Intennix'd  with  her  moans, 

And  her  sighs  and  her  groans, 
Enough  to  have  melted  the  hearts  of  the  stones, 
Came  at  intervals  Basil's  sweet,  soft,  silver  tones, 
For  somehow  it  happen'd — I  can't  tell  you  why — 
The  good  Friar's  indignation, — at  first  rather  high, — 
To  judge  from  the  language  he  used  in  reply, 
Ere  the  old  woman  ceased,  had  a  good  deal  gone  by ; 


276  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  he  gently  address'd  her  in  accents  of  houey, 
"Daughter,  don't  you  despair ?— WHAT'S  BECOME  OF  THE 
MONEY  ? " 

In  one  just  at  Death's  door,  it  was  really  absurd 
To  see  how  her  eye  lighted  up  at  that  word — 
Indeed  there's  not  one  in  the  language  that  I  know, 
(Save  its    synonyms   "  Spanish,"    "  Blunt,"    "  Stumpy,"    and 
"Rhino,") 

Which  acts  so  direct,    And  with  so  much  effect 
On  the  human  sensorium,  or  makes  one  erect 
One's  ears  so,  as  soon  as  the  sound  we  detect — 

It's  a  question  with  me    Which  of  the  three, 
Father  Basil  himself,  though  a  grave  S.T.P., 
(Such  as  he  have,  you  see,  the  degree  of  D.D.,) 
Or  the  eaves-dropping,  bandy-legg'd  Tailor, — or  She 
Caught  it  quickest — however  traditions  agree 
That  the  Old  Woman  perk'd  up  as  brisk  as  a  bee. — 

'Twas  the  last  quivering  flare  of  the  taper, — the  fire 

It  so  often  emits  when  about  to  expire  ! 

Her  excitement  began  the  same  instant  to  flag, 

She  sank  back,  and  whisper'd,  "  Safe ! — Safe !  in  the  Bag  ! ! 

Now  I  would  not  by  any  means  have  you  suppose 
That  the  good  Father  Basil  was  just  one  of  those 

Who  entertain  views    We're  so  apt  to  abuse, 
As  neither  befitting  Turks,  Christians,  nor  Jews, 

Who  haunt  death-bed  scenes,    By  underhand  means 
To  toady  or  tease  people  into  a  legacy, — 
For  few  folk,  indeed,  had  such  good  right  to  beg  as  he, 
Since  Rome,  in  her  pure  Apostolical  beauty, 
Not  only  permits,  but  enjoins  as  a  duty, 

Her  sons  to  take  care    That,  let  who  will  be  heir, 
The  Pontiff  shall  not  be  choused  out  of  his  share, 
Nor  stand  any  such  mangling  of  chattels  and  goods, 
As,  they  say,  was  the  case,  with  the  late  Jemmy  Wood's  ; 
Her  Conclaves,  and  Councils,  and  Synods  in  short  main 
-tain  principles  adverse  to  statutes  of  Mortmain  ; 

Besides  you'll  discern 

It,  at  once,  when  you  learn 


THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  277 

That  Basil  had  something  to  give  in  return, 
Since  it  rested  with  him  to  say  how  she  should  burn, 
Nay,  as  to  her  ill-gotten  wealth,  should  she  turn  it  all 
To  uses  he  named,  he  could  say,  "  You  shan't  burn  at  all, 

Or  nothing  to  signify,    Not  what  you'd  dignify 
So  much  as  even  to  call  it  a  roast, 
But  a  mere  little  singeing,  or  scorching  at  most. — 
What  many  would  think  not  unpleasantly  warm, — 
Just  to  keep  up  appearance — mere  matter  of  form." 

All  this  in  her  ear    He  declared,  but  I  fear 
That  her  senses  were  wand'ring — she  seem'd  not  to  hear, 
Or,  at  least,  understand, — for  mere  unmeaning  talk  her 
Parch'd    lips    babbled    now,  —  such    as    "  Hookey  !  "  —  and 

"  Walker ! " 

— She  expired,  with  her  last  breath  expressing  a  doubt 
If  "  his  Mother  were  fully  aware  he  was  out  1 " 

Now  it  seems  there's  a  place  they  call  Purgat'ry — so 

I  must  write  it,  my  verse  not  admitting  the  O — 

But  as  for  the  venue,  I  vow  I'm  perplext 

To  say  if  it's  in  this  world,  or  if  in  the  next — 

Or  whether  in  both — for  'tis  very  well  known 

That  St.  Patrick,  at  least,  has  got  one  of  his  own, 

In  a  "  tight  little  Island  "  that  stands  in  a  Lake 

CalTd  "  Lough-dearg  "—that's  "  The  Red  Lake,"  unless  I  mis 

take — 
In  Fermanagh — or  Antrim — or  Donegal — which 

I  declare  I  can't  tell,    But  I  know  very  well 
It's  in  latitude  54,  nearly  their  pitch 
(At  Tappington,  now,  I  could  look  in  the  Gazetteer, 
But  I'm  out  on  a  visit,  and  nobody  has  it  here). 

There  are  some,  I'm  aware,    Who  don't  stick  to  declare 
There's  "  no  differ  "  at  all  'twixt  "  this  here  "  and  "that  there/ 
That  it's  all  the  same  place,  but  the  Saint  reserves  his  entry 
For  the  separate  use  of  the  "  finest  of  pisentry," 

And  that  his  is  no  more     Than  a  mere  private  door 
From  the  rez-de-chaussee, — as  some  call  the  ground  floor, — 
To  the  one  which  the  Pope  had  found  out  long  before. 

But  no  matter — lay    The  locale  where  you  may  ; 
— And  where  it  is  no  one  exactly  can  say — 


278  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

There's  one  thing,  at  least,  which  is  known  very  well, 
That  it  acts  as  a  Tap-room  to  Satan's  Hotel. 

"  Entertainment "  there's  worse 
Both  for  "  Man  and  for  Horse ; " 

For  broiling  the  souls    They  use  Lord  Mayor's  coals  ; — 
Then  the  sulphur's  inferior,  and  boils  up  much  slower, 
Than  the  fine  fruitly  brimstone  they  give  you  down  lower. 

It's  by  no  means  so  strong — 

Mere  sloe-leaves  to  Souchong  ; 
The  "  prokers  "  are  not  half  so  hot,  or  so  long, 
By  an  inch  or  two  either  in  handle  or  prong  ; 
The  Vipers  and  Snakes  are  less  sharp  in  the  tooth, 
And  the  Nondescript  Monsters  not  near  so  uncouth  ; — 
In  short,  it's  a  place  the  good  Pope,  its  creator, 
Made  for  what's  called  by  Cockneys  a  "  Minor  The-atre." 
Better  suited,  of  course,  for  a  "  minor  performer," 
Than  the "  House "  that's   so   much    better  lighted    and 

warmer, 
Below,  in  that  queer  place  which  nobody  mentions, — 

— You  understand  where    I  don't  question — down  there 
Where  in  lieu  of  wood  blocks,  and  such  modern  inventions, 
The  Paving  Commissioners  use  "  Good  Intentions," 
Materials  which  here  would  be  thought  on  by  few  men, 
With  so  many  founts  of  Asphaltic  bitumen 
At  hand,  at  the  same  time  to  pave  and  illumine. 

To  go  on  with  my  story,    This  same  Purga-tory, 
(There !    I've  got  in  the  O,  to  my  Muse's  great  glory,) 
Is  close  lock'd,  and  the  Pope  keeps  the  keys  of  it — that  I  can 
Boldly  affirm — in  his  desk  in  the  Vatican  ; 

— Not  those  of  St.  Peter — 

These  of  which  I  now  treat,  are 

A  bunch  by  themselves,  and  much  smaller  and  neater—- 
And so  cleverly  made,  Mr.  Chubb  could  not  frame  a 
Key  better  contrived  for  its  purpose — nor  Bramah. 

Now  it  seems  that  by  these    Most  miraculous  keys 
Not  only  the  Pope,  but  his  "  clargy,"  with  ease 
Can  let  people  in  and  out  just  as  they  please ; 
And — provided  you  "  make  it  all  right "  about  fees, 
There  is  not  a  Friar,  Dr.  Wiseman  will  own,  of  them, 
But  can  always  contrive  to  obtain  a  short  loan  of  them ; 


THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  279 

And  Basil,  no  doubt    Had  brought  matters  about, 
If  the  little  old  woman  would  but  have  "  spoke  out," 
So  far  as  to  get  for  her  one  of  those  tickets, 
Or  passes,  which  clear  both  the  great  gates  and  wickets  ; 

So  that  after  a  grill,  Or  short  turn  on  the  Mill, 
And  with  no  worse  a  singeing,  to  purge  her  iniquity, 
Than  a  Freemason  gets  in  the  "  Lodge  of  Antiquity," 

She'd  have  rubb'd  off  old  scores,    Popp'd  out  of  doors. 
And  sheer'd  off  at  once  for  a  happier  port, 
Like  a  white-wash'd  Insolvent  that's  "  gone  through  the  Court." 

But  Basil  was  one    Who  was  not  to  be  done 
By  any  one,  either  in  earnest  or  fun ; — 
The  cunning  old  beads-telling  son  of  a  gun, 
In  all  bargains,  unless  he'd  his  quid  for  his  quo, 
Would  shake  his  bald  pate,  and  pronounce  it  "  No  Go." 

So  unless  you're  a  dunce    You'll  see  clearly,  at  once, 
When  you  come  to  consider  the  facts  of  the  case,  he, 
Of  course  never  gave  her  his  Vade  in  pace  ; 
And  the  consequence  was,  when  the  last  mortal  throe 
Released  her  pale  Ghost  from  these  regions  of  woe, 
The  little  old  woman  had  nowhere  to  go ! 

For,  what  could  she  do  ?    She  very  well  knew 
If  she  went  to  the  gates  I  have  mention'd  to  you, 
Without  Basil's,  or  some  other  passport  to  show, 
The  Cheque-takers  never  would  let  her  go  through ; 
While,  as  to  the  other  place,  e'en  had  she  tried  it, 
And  really  had  wish'd  it,  as  much  as  she  shied  it 
(For  no  one  who  knows  what  it  is  can  abide  it), 
Had  she  knock'd  at  the  portal  with  ne'er  so  much  din, 
Though  she  died  in,  what  folks  at  Rome  call,  "Mortal  sin," 
Yet  Old  Nick,  for  the  life  of  him,  daren't  take  her  in, 
As  she'd  not  been  turn'd  formally  out  of  "  the  pale  : — ' 
So  much  the  bare  name  of  the  Pope  made  him  quail, 
In  the  times  that  I  speak  of,  his  courage  would  fail 
Of  Rome's  vassals  the  lowest  and  worst  to  assail, 
Or  e'en  touch  with  so  much  as  the  end  of  his  tail ; 

Though,  now  he's  grown  older, 

They  say  he's  much  bolder, 
And  his  Holiness  not  only  gets  the  "  cold  shoulder," 


280  THE  INQOLD&BY  LEGENDS. 

But  Nick  rumps  him  completely,  and  don't  seem  to  care  a 
Dump — that's  the  word — for  his  triple  tiara. 

Well— what  shall  she  do  1— 

What's  the  course  to  pursue  1 — 
"  Try  St.  Peter  ]— the  step  is  a  bold  one  to  take  ; 
For  the  Saint  is,  there  can't  be  a  doubt,  '  wide  awake  ; ' 

But  then  there's  a  quaint    Old  Proverb  says  '  Faint 
Heart  ne'er  won  fair  Lady,'  then  how  win  a  Saint  ? 
I've  a  great  mind  to  try, —  One  can  but  apply, 
If  things  come  to  the  worst  why  he  can  but  deny — 

The  sky    's  rather  high 

To  be  sure — but,  now  I 

That  cumbersome  carcase  of  clay  have  laid  by, 
I  am  just  in  the  '  order '  which  some  folks — though  why 
I  am  sure  I  can't  tell  you — would  call '  Apple-pie.' 

Then  '  never  say  die,'    It  won't  do  to  be  shy, 
So  I'll  tuck  up  my  shroud,  and  here  goes  for  a  fly ! " 
—So  said  and  so  done — she  was  off  like  a  shot, 
And  kept  on  the  whole  way  at  a  pretty  smart  trot. 

When  she  drew  so  near    That  the  Saint  could  see  her, 
In  a  moment  he  frown'd,  and  began  to  look  queer, 
And  scarce  would  allow  her  to  make  her  case  clear, 
Ere  he  pursed  up  his  mouth  'twixt  a  sneer  and  a  jeer, 
With  "  It's  all  very  well  — but  you  do  not  lodge  here  ! '"' 
Then,  calling  her  everything  but  "  My  dear  !  " 
He  applied  his  great  toe  with  some  force  au  derriere, 
And  dismiss'd  her  at  once  with  a  flea  in  her  ear. 

"  Alas  !  poor  Ghost ! "    It's  a  doubt  which  is  most 
To  be  pitied — one  doom'd  to  fry,  broil,  boil,  and  roast,— 
Or  one  bandied  about  thus  from  pillar  to  post, — 
To  be  all  "  abroad  "  to  be  "  stump'd  " — not  to  know  where 

To  go — so  disgraced    As  not  to  be  "  placed," — 
Or,  as  Crocky  would  say  to  Jem  Bland,  "  To  be  Nowhere."- 
However  that  be,     The  affaire  was  finie, 
And  the  poor  wretch  rejected  by  all,  as  you  see ! 

Mr.  Oliver  Goldsmith  observes — not  the  Jew — 

That  the  "  Hare  whom  the  hounds  and  the  huntsmen  pursue,' 

Having  no  other  sort  of  asylum  in  view, 

"  Returns  back  again  to  the  place  whence  she  flew," 

A  fact  which  experience  has  proved  to  be  true.— 


THE  OLD    WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  281 

Mr.  Gray, — in  opinion  with  whom  Johnson  clashes, — 

Declares  that  our  "  wonted  fires  live  in  our  ashes." — 

These  motives  combined,  perhaps,  brought  back  the  hag, 

The  first  to  her  mansion,  the  last  to  her  bag, 

When  only  conceive  her  dismay  and  surprise, 

As  a  Ghost  how  she  open'd  her  cold  stony  eyes, 

When  there, — on  the  spot  where  she'd  hid  her  "  supplies," — 

In  an  underground  cellar  of  very  small  size, 

Working  hard  with  a  spade,    All  at  once  she  surveyed 

That  confounded  old  bandy-legg'd  "  Tailor  by  trade." 

Fancy  the  tone    Of  the  half  moan,  half  groan, 
Which  burst  from  the  breast  of  the  Ghost  of  the  crone  ! 
As  she  stood  there, — a  figure  'twixt  moonshine  and  stone, 
Only  fancy  the  glare  in  her  eyeballs  that  shone  ! 
Although,  as  Macbeth  says,  "  they'd  no  speculation." 

While  she  utter'd  that  word    Which  American  Bird, 
Or  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  would  render  "  Tarnation ! ! " 

At  the  noise  which  she  made    Down  went  the  spade ! — 
And  up  jump'd  the  bandy-legg'd  "  Tailor  by  trade," 
(Who  had  shrewdly  conjectured,  from  something  that  fell, 

her 
Deposit  was  somewhere  conceal'd  in  the  cellar  j ) 

Turning  round  at  a  sound    So  extremely  profoun<1, 
The  moment  her  shadowy  form  met  his  view 
He  gave  vent  to  a  sort  of  a  lengthen'd  "  Bo-o — ho-o ! " — 
With  a  countenance  Keeley  alone  could  put  on, 
Made  one  grasshopper  spring  to  the  door — and  was  gone  ! 

Erupit !   Evasit !    As  at  Rome  they  would  phrase  it — 
His  flight  was  so  swift,  the  eye  scarcely  could  trace  it — 
Though  elderly,  bandy-legg'd,  meagre,  and  sickly, 
I  doubt  if  the  Ghost  could  have  vanish'd  more  quickly  ; 
He  reach'd  his  own  shop,  then  fell  into  fits, 
And  it's  said  never  rightly  recover'd  his  wits, 
While  the  chuckling  old  Hag  takes  his  place  and  there  sits ! 

I'll  venture  to  say,    She'd  sat  there  to  this  day, 
Brooding  over  what  Cobbett  calls  "  vile  yellow  clay," 
Like  a  vulture,  or  other  obscene  bird  of  prey, 
O'er  the  nest  full  of  eggs  she  had  managed  to  lay, 
If,  as  legends  relate,  and  I  think  we  may  trust  'em,  her 
Stars  had  not  brought  her  another  guess  customer — 


282  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Twas  Basil  himself ! —    Couie  to  look  for  her  pelf  : 
But  iiot,  like  the  Tailor,  to  dig,  delve,  and  grovel, 
And  grub  in  the  cellar  with  pickaxe  and  shovel : 

Full  well  he  knew    Such  tools  would  not  do, — 
Far  other  the  weapons  he  brought  into  play, 
Viz.,  a  Wax-taper  "  hallow'd  on  Candlemas-day," 

To  light  to  her  ducats, —    Holy  water  two  buckets, 
Made  with  salt — half  a  peck  to  four  gallons — which  brews  a 
(Strong  triple  X  "  strike," — see  Jacobus  de  Chusa). 

With  these,  too,  he  took    His  bell  and  his  book — 
Not  a  nerve  ever  trembled, — his  hand  never  shook 
As  he  boldly  march'd  up  where  she  sat  in  her  nook, 
Glow'ring  round  with  that  wild  indescribable  look, 
Which  Soine  may  have  read  of,  perchance,  in  "  Nell  Cook," 
All,  in  "  Martha  the  Gipsy,"  by  Theodore  Hook. 

And  now,  for  the  reason  I  gave  you  before, 

Of  what  pass'd  then  and  there  I  can  tell  you  no  more, 

As  no  Tailor  was  near  with  his  ear  at  the  door  : 

But  I've  always  been  told.    With  respect  to  the  gold, 
For  which  she  her  "jewel  eternal "  had  sold, 

That  the  old  Harridan,    Who,  no  doubt,  knew  her  man, 
Made  some  compromise — hit  upon  some  sort  of  plan, 
By  which  Friar  and  Ghost  were  both  equally  pinn'd — 
Heaven  only  knows  how  the  "  Agreement "  got  wind  ; 

But  its  purpose  was  this,    That  the  things  done  amiss 
By  the  Hag  should  not  hinder  her  ultimate  bliss ; 

Provided — "  Imprimis,    The  cash  from  this  time  is 
The  Church's — impounded  for  good  pious  uses — 
— Father  B.  shall  dispose  of  it  just  as  he  chooses, 

And  act  as  trustee —    In  the  mean  time  that  She, 
The  said  Ghostess, — or  Ghost, — as  the  matter  may  be, — 
From  '  impediment,' '  hindrance,'  and  '  let '  shall  be  free, 
To  sleep  in  her  grave,  or  to  wander,  as  he 
The  said  Friar,  with  said  Ghost,  may  hereafter  agree. — 

Moreover — The  whole    Of  the  said  cash  or  '  cole/ 
Shall  be  spent  for  the  good  of  said  Old  Woman's  soul ! 

"  It  is  further  agreed — while  said  cash  is  so  spending, 
Said  Ghost  shall  be  fully  absolved  from  attending, 

And  shall  quiet  remain    In  the  grave,  her  domain, 
To  have  and  enjoy,  and  uphold,  and  maintain, 


THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  283 

Without  molestation,  or  trouble,  or  pain, 
Hindrance,  let,  or  impediment  (over  again) 
From  old  Nick,  or  from  any  one  else  of  his  train, 
Whether  PowV — Domination, — or  Princedom, — or  Throne, 
Or  by  :what  name  soever  the  same  may  be  known, 
Howsoe'er  call'd  by  Poets  or  styled  by  Divines, — 
Himself, — his  executors,  heirs,  and  assigns. 

"  Provided  that, — nevertheless, — notwithstanding 

All  herein  contain'd — if  whoever's  a  hand  in 

Dispensing  said  cash, — or  said  '  cole,' — shall  dare  venture 

To  misapply  money,  note,  bill,  or  debenture 

To  uses  not  named  in  this  present  Indenture, 

Then  that  such  sum,  or  sums,  shall  revert  and  come  home 

again 

Back  to  said  Ghost, — who  thenceforward  shall  roam  again, 
Until  such  time,  or  times,  as  the  said  Ghost  produces 
Some  good  man  and  true,  who  no  longer  refuses 
To  put  sum,  or  sums,  aforesaid,  to  said  uses ; 
Which  duly  perform'd,  the  said  Ghost  shall  have  rest, 
The  full  term  of  her  natural  death,  of  the  best, 
In  full  consideration  of  this,  her  bequest, 
In  manner  and  form  aforesaid, — as  exprest : — 
In  witness  whereof,  we,  the  parties  aforesaid, 
Hereunto  set  our  hands  and  our  seals — and  no  more  said, 
Being  all  that  these  presents  intend  to  express, 
Whereas — notwithstanding — and  neverthel  ess. 

"  Sign'd,  seal'd,  and  deliver'd,  this  20th  of  May, 
Anno  Domini,  blank  (though  I've  mention'd  the  day), 
(Signed) 

BASIL. 

OLD  WOMAN  (late)  CLOTHED  IN  GREY." 

Basil  now,  I  am  told,    Walking  off  with  the  gold, 
Went  and  straight  got  the  document  duly  enroll'd, 
And  left  the  testatrix  to  mildew  and  mould, 
In  her  sepulchre,  cosy,  cool, — not  to  say  cold. 
But  somehow — though  how  I  can  hardly  divine, — 

A  runlet  of  fine    Rich  Malvoisie  wine 
Found  its  way  to  the  convent  that  night  before  nine, 
With  custards,  and  "  flawns  "  and  a  "  fayre  florentine," 


284  THE  JNGOLDSSY  LEGENDS. 

Peach,  Apricot,  nectarine,  melon,  and  pine  ; — 

And  some  half  a  score  Nuns  of  the  rule  Bridgetine, 

Abbess  and  all  were  invited  to  dine 

At  a  very  late  hour, — that  is  after  Compline. — 

— Father  Hilary's  rubies  began  soon  to  shine 

With  fresh  lustre,  as  though  newly  dug  from  the  mine ; 

Through  all  the  next  year,    Indeed  'twould  appear 
That  the  Convent  was  much  better  off,  as  to  cheer ; 
Even  Basil  himself,  as  I  very  much  fear, 
No  longer  addicted  himself  to  small  beer ; 

His  complexion  grew  clear,    While  in  front  and  in  rear 
He  enlarged  so,  his  shape  seem'd  approaching  a  sphere. 

No  wonder  at  all,  then,  one  cold  winter's  night, 
That  a  servant  girl  going  down-stairs  with  a  light 
To  the  cellar  we've  spoken  of,  saw,  with  affright, 
An  Old  Woman,  astride  on  a  barrel,  invite 
Her  to  take,  in  a  manner  extremely  polite, 
With  her  left  hand,  a  bag,  she  had  got  in  her  right, 
For  tradition  asserts  that  the  Old  Woman's  purse 
Had  come  back  to  her  scarcely  one  penny  the  worse ! 

The  girl,  as  they  say,  Ran  screaming  away, 
Quite  scared  by  the  Old  Woman  clothed  in  grey  ; 
But  there  came  down  a  Knight,  at  no  distant  a  day, 

Sprightly  and  gay    As  the  bird  on  the  spray, 
One  Sir  Rufus  Mountfardington,  Lord  of  Foot's-cray, 
Whose  estate,  not  unlike  those  of  most  our  "  Swell "  beaux, 
Was,  what's,  by  a  metaphor,  term'd  "  out  at  elbows  ; " 
And  the  fact  was,  said  Knight  was  now  merely  delay'd 
From  crossing  the  water  to  join  the  Crusade 
For  converting  the  Pagans  with  bill,  bow,  and  blade, 
By  the  want  of  a  little  pecuniary  aid 
To  buy  arms  and  horses,  the  tools  of  his  trade, 
And  enable  his  troop  to  appear  on  parade ; 

The  unquiet  Shade    Thought  Sir  Rufus,  'tis  said, 
Just  the  man  for  her  money, — she  readily  paid 
For  the  articles  named,  and  with  pleasure  convey'd 
To  his  hands  every  farthing  she  ever  had  made  ; 

But,  alas  !  I'm  afraid    Most  unwisely  she  laid 
Out  her  cash — the  Beaux  yeux  of  a  Saracen  maid 
(Truth  compels  me  to  say  a  most  pestilent  jade) 


THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GREY.  28f 

Converted  the  gallant  converter — betray'd 

Him  to  do  everything  which  a  Knight  could  degrade, 

— E'en  to  worship  Mahound  ! — She  required — He  obey'd, — 

The  consequence  was,  all  the  money  was  wasted 

On  Infidel  pleasures  he  should  not  have  tasted  ; 

So  that,  after  a  very  short  respite,  the  Hag 

Was  seen  down  in  her  cellar  again  with  her  bag. 

Don't  fancy,  dear  Reader,  I  mean  to  go  on 
Seriatim  through  so  many  ages  bygone, 

And  to  bore  you  with  names 

Of  the  Squires  and  the  Dames, 
Who  have  managed,  at  times,  to  get  hold  of  the  sack, 
But  spent  the  cash  so  that  it  always  came  back ; 

The  list  is  too  long    To  be  given  in  my  song, — 
There  are  reasons  beside,  would  perhaps  make  it  wrong ; 
I  shall  merely  observe,  in  those  orthodox  days, 
When  Mary  set  Smithfield  all  o'er  in  a  blaze, 

And  show'd  herself  very  se-    -vere  against  heresy, 
While  many  a  wretch  scorn'd  to  flinch,  or  to  scream,  as  he 
Burnt  for  denying  the  Papal  supremacy. 

Bishop  Bonner  the  bag  got, 

And  all  thought  the  Hag  got 
Released,  as  he  spent  all  in  fuel  and  faggot. — 

But  somehow — though  how    I  can't  tell  you,  I  vow— 
I  suppose  by  mismanagement — ere  the  next  reign 
The  Spectre  had  got  all  her  money  again. 

The  last  time,  I'm  told,    That  the  Old  Woman's'gold 
Was  obtain'd — as  before, — for  the  asking, — 'twas  had 
By  a  Mr.  O — Something — from  Ballinafad ; 
And  the  whole  of  it,  so  'tis  reported,  was  sent 
To  John  Wright's,  in  account  for  the  Catholic  Rent, 
And  thus,  like  a  great  deal  more  money — it  "  went ! " 

So  'tis  said  at  Maynooth,    But  I  can't  think  it's  truth, 
Though  I  know  it  was  boldly  asserted  last  season, 
Still  I  can  not  believe  it ;  and  that  for  this  reason, 
It's  certain  the  cash  has  got  back  to  its  owner  ! " 
— Now  no  part  of  the  Rent  to  do  so  e'er  was  known,—  or, 
In  any  shape,  ever  come  home  to  the  donor. 

GENTLE  READER  ! — you  must  know  the  proverb,  I  think — 
"  To  a  blind  horse  a  Nod  is  as  good  as  a  Wink  1 " 


28C  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Which  some  learned  Chap,    In  a  square  College  cap, 
Perhaps  would  translate  by  the  words  "  Verbum  Sap  ! " 

— Now  should  it  so  chance    That  you're  going  to  France 
In  the  course  of  next  Spring,  as  you  probably  may, 

Do  pull  up  and  stay,    Pray,    If  but  for  a  day, 
At  Dover,  through  which  you  must  pass  on  your  way, 
At  the  York, — or  the  Ship, — where,  as  all  people  say, 
You'll  get  good  wine  yourself,  and  your  horses  good  hay, 
Perhaps,  my  good  friend,  you  may  find  it  will  pay, 
And  you  cannot  lose  much  by  so  short  a  delay. 

FIKST  DINE  ! — You  can  do    That  on  joint  or  ragout— 
Then  say  to  the  waiter, — "  I'm  just  passing  through, — 
Pray,  where  can  I  find  out  the  old  Maison  Dieu  ?  " — 
He'll  show  you  the  street — (the  French  call  it  a  Rue, 
But  you  won't  have  to  give  here  a  petit  ecu). 
Well,  —  when  you've  got   there,  —  never  mind   how  you're 

taunted, — 

Ask  boldly,  "  Pray  which  is  the  house  here  that's  hauuted  ? " 
— I'd  tell  you  myself,  but  I  can't  recollect 
The  proprietor's  name,  but  he's  one  of  that  sect 
Who   call    themselves    "  Friends,"   and   whom    others    call 

"  Quakers,"— 
You'll  be  sure  to  find  out  if  you  ask  at  the  Baker's,— 

Then  go  down  with  a  light,    To  the  cellar  at  night ! 
And  as  soon  as  you  see  her  don't  be  in  a  fright ! 

But  ask  the  old  Hag,    At  once,  for  the  bag  ! — 
If  you  find  that  she's  shy,  or  your  senses  would  dazzle, 
Say,  "  Ma'am,  I  insist  !— in  the  name  of  St.  Basil ! " 

If  she  gives  it  you,  seize    It,  and — do  as  you  please — 
But  there  is  not  a  person  I've  ask'd  but  agrees, 
You  should  spend — part  at  least — for  the  Old  Woman's  ease 
— For  the  rest — if  it  must  go  back  some  day — why — let  it  ! — 
Meanwhile,  if  you're  poor,  or  in  love,  or  in  debt,  it 
May  do  you  some  good,  and — I  WISH  YOU  MAY  GET  IT  !  !  I 


RAISING  THE  DEVIL.  287 


Batting  tibe  2BdnL 

A  LEGEND  OF   CORNELIUS  AGRIPPA. 

M  AND  hast  thou  nerve  enough  ? "  he  said, 
That  grey  Old  Man,  above  whose  head 

Unnumber'd  years  had  roll'd, — 
"  And  hast  thou  nerve  to  view,"  he  cried, 
"  The  incarnate  Fiend  that  Heaven  defied ! 

— Art  thou  indeed  so  bold  ? 

"  Say,  canst  thou,  with  unshrinking  gaze, 
Sustain,  rash  youth,  the  withering  blaze 

Of  that  unearthly  eye, 
That  blasts  where'er  it  lights — the  breath 
That,  like  the  Simoom,  scatters  death, 

On  all  that  yet  can  die  ! 

"  — Barest  thou  confront  that  fearful  form, 
That  rides  the  whirlwind,  and  the  storm, 

In  wild  unholy  revel ! 
The  terrors  of  that  blasted  brow, 
Archangel's  once, — though  ruin'd  now— 

— Ay, — dar'st  thou  face  THE  DEVIL  ?  "- 

"  I  dare ! "  the  desperate  Youth  replied, 
And  placed  him  by  that  Old  Man's  side, 

In  fierce  and  frantic  glee, 
Unblench'd  his  cheek,  and  firm  his  limb ; 
"  — No  paltry  juggling  Fiend,  but  HIM  ! 

— THE  DEVIL  ! — I  fain  would  see ! — 

**  In  all  his  Gorgon  terrors  clad, 
His  worst,  his  fellest  shape  ! "  the  Lad 

Rejoin'd  in  reckless  tone. — 
— "  Have  then  thy  wish ! "  Agrippa  said, 
And  sigh'd  and  shook  his  hoary  head, 

With  many  a  bitter  groan. 

He  drew  the  mystic  circle's  bound, 

With  skull  and  cross-bones  fenced  around  ; 


THE  IN&OLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

He  traced  full  many  a  sigil  there  ; 
He  mutter'd  many  a  backward  pray'r, 

That  sounded  like  a  curse — 
"  He  comes ! " — he  cried  with  wild  grimace, 
"  The  fellest  of  Apollyon's  race !  " — 
— Then  in  his  startled  pupil's  face 
He  dash'd— an  EMPTY  PURSB  !  1 


£>amt 

A   LEGEND    OF    AFRIC. 

IN  good  King  Dagobert's  palmy  days, 
When  Saints  were  many,  and  sins  were  few, 

Old  Nick,  'tis  said,    Was  sore  bested 
One  evening, — and  could  not  tell  what  to  do. — 

He  had  been  East,  and  he  had  been  West, 
And  far  had  he  journey'd  o'er  land  and  sea ; 

For  women  and  men,    Were  warier  then, 
And  he  could  not  catch  one  where  he'd  now  catch  threa 

He  had  been  North,  and  he  had  been  South, 
From  Zembla's  snores  unto  far  Peru, 

Ere  he  fill'd  the  sack    Which  he  bore  on  his  back- 
Saints  were  so  many,  and  sins  so  few ! 

The  way  was  long,  and  the  day  was  hot ; 
His  wings  were  weary  ;  his  hoofs  were  sore ; 

And  scarce  could  he  trail    His  nerveless  tail, 
As  it  furrowed  the  sand  on  the  Red  Sea  shore ! 

The  day  had  been  hot,  and  the  way  was  long ; 
— Hoof -sore,  and  weary,  and  faint  was  he  ; 

He  lower'd  his  sack,    And  the  heat  of  his  back, 
As  he  lean'd  on  a  palm-trunk,  blasted  the  tree ! 

He  sat  himself  down  in  the  palm-tree's  shade, 
And  he  gazed,  and  he  grinn'd  in  pure  delight, 

As  he  peep'd  inside    The  buffalo's  hide, 
He  had  sewn  for  a  sacK,  and  had  crammed  so  tight 


SAINT  MEDARD.  ?89 

For,  though  he'd  "  gone  over  a  good  deal  of  ground." 
And  game  had  been  scarce,  he  might  well  report 

That  still,  he  had  got    A  decentish  lot, 
And  had  had,  on  the  whole,  not  a  bad  day's  sport. 

He  had  pick'd  up  in  France  a  Maitre  de  danse, — 
A  Maifresse  en  titre, — two  smart  Grisettes, 

A  Courtier  at  play, —    And  an  English  Roue — 
Who  had  bolted  from  home  without  paying  his  debts. — 

—He  had  caught  in  Great  Britain  a  Scrivener's  clerk, 
A  Quaker, — a  Baker,— a  Doctor  of  Laws, — 

And  a  jockey  of  York-      But  Paddy  from  Cork 
"  Desaved  the  ould  divil,"  and  slipp'd  through  his  claws  ! 

In  Moscow  a  Boyar  knouting  his  wife 
— A  Corsair's  crew,  in  the  Isles  of  Greece — 

And,  under  the  dome    Of  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome, 
He  had  snapp'd  up  a  nice  little  Cardinal's  Niece. — 

He  had  bagg'd  an  Inquisitor  fresh  from  Spain — 
A  mendicant  Friar — of  Monks  a  score, 

A  grave  Don,  or  two,    And  a  Portuguese  Jew, 
Whom  he  nabb'd  while  clipping  a  new  Moidore. 

And  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  lick'd  his  lips, 
"  Those  nice  little  Dears ! — what  a  delicate  roast ! — 

—Then,  that  fine  fat  Friar,    At  a  very  quick  fire, 
Dressed  like  a  Woodcock,  and  served  on  toast ! " 

— At  the  sight  of  tit-bits  so  toothsome  and  choice 
Never  did  mouth  water  more  than  Nick's ; 

But, — alas  !  and  alack ! —    He  had  stuff'd  his  sack 
So  full  that  he  found  himself  quite  "  in  a  fix  :  " 

For,  all  he  could  do,  or  all  he  could  say, 
When,  a  little  recruited,  he  rose  to  go, 

Alas  !  and  alack ! —    He  could  not  get  the  sack 
Up  again  on  his  shoulders  "  whether  or  no ! " 

Old  Nick  look'd  East,  Old  Nick  look'd  West, 
With  many  a  stretch,  and  with  many  a  strain, 

He  bent  till  his  back    Was  ready  to  crack, 
And  he  pull'd  and  he  tugg'd, — but  he  tugg'd  in  vain. 


290  THE  INOOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

Old  Nick  look'd  North,  Old  Nick  look'd  South ; 
— Weary  was  Nicholas,  weak  and  faint, — 

And  he  was  aware    Of  an  old  man  there, 
In  Palmer's  weeds,  who  look'd  much  like  a  Saint 

Nick  eyed  the  Saint, — then  he  eyed  the  Sack — 
The  greedy  old  glutton ! — and  thought  with  a  grin, 

"  Dear  heart  alive  !    If  I  could  but  contrive 
To  pop  that  elderly  gentleman  in ! — 

"  For  were  I  to  choose  among  all  the  ragouts 
The  cuisine  can  exhibit — flesh,  fowl,  or  fish, — 

To  myself  I  can  paint    That  a  barbecued  Saint 
Would  be  for  my  palate  the  best  side-dish ! " 

Now  St.  Medard  dwelt  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile, 
— In  a  Pyramis  fast  by  the  lone  Red  Sea. 

(We  call  it  "  Semiramis,"    Why  not  say  Pyramis  t — 
Why  should  we  change  the  S  into  a  D  ?) 

St.  Medard,  he  was  a  holy  man, 
A  holy  man  I  ween  was  he, 

And  even  by  day,    When  he  went  up  to  pray, 
He  would  light  up  a  candle,  that  all  might  see ! 

He  salaam'd  to  the  East, — He  salaam'd  to  the  West ; 
— Of  the  gravest  cut,  and  the  holiest  brown 

Were  his  Palmer's  weeds, —  And  he  finger'd  his  beads 
With  the  right  side  up,  and  the  wrong  side  down. — 


(Hiatus  in  MSS.  valde  deflendus.) 

St.  Medard  dwelt  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile ; — 
He  had  been  living  there  years  fourscore, — 

And  now,  "  taking  the  air,"    and  saving  a  pray'r, 
He  was  walking  at  eve  on  the  Red  Sea  shore. 

Little  he  deem'd — that  holy  man ! — 
Of  Old  Nick's  wiles,  and  his  fraudful  tricks, — 
When  he  was  aware    Of  a  stranger  there, 
Who  seem'd  to  have  got  himself  into  a  fix 


SAINT  MEDAED.  291 

Deeply  that  Stranger  groan'd  and  sigh'd, 
That  wayfaring  Stranger,  grisly  and  grey  : — 

"  I  can't  raise  my  sack    On  my  poor  old  back ! 
Oh,  lend  me  a  lift,  kind  Gentleman,  pray !  — 

"  For  I  have  been  East,  and  I  have  been  West, 
Foot-sore,  weary,  and  faint  am  I, 

And,  unless  I  get  home    Ere  the  Curfew  borne, 
Here  in  this  desert  I  well  may  die ! " 

"  Now  Heav'n  thee  save ! " — Nick  winced  at  the  words, 
As  ever  he  winces  at  words  divine — 

"  Now  Heav'n  thee  save! —  What  strength  I  have, — 
It's  little,  I  wis, — shall  be  freely  thine  1 

"  For  foul  befall  that  Christian  man 
Who  shall  fail,  in  a  fix, — woe  worth  the  while ! — 

His  hand  to  lend    To  foe  or  to  friend, 
Or  to  help  a  lame  dog  over  a  stile  ! " 

—St.  Medard  had  boon'd  himself  for  the  task  : 
To  hoist  up  the  sack  he  doth  well  begin  ; 

But  the  fardel  feels    Like  a  bag  full  of  eels, 
For  the  folks  are  all  curling,  and  kicking  within. — 

St  Medard  paused — he  began  to  "  smoke  " — 
For  a  Saint, — if  he  isn't  exactly  a  cat, — 

Has  a  very  good  nose,    As  this  world  goes, 
And  not  worse  than  his  neighbour's  for  "  smelling  a  rat." 

The  Saint  look'd  up,  and  the  Saint  look'd  down ; 
He  "  smelt  the  rat,"  and  he  "  smoked  "  the  trick  : 

— When  he  came  to  view    His  comical  shoe, 
He  saw  in  a  moment  his  friend  was  Nick ! 

He  whipp'd  out  his  oyster-knife,  broad  and  keen— 
A  Brummagem  blade  which  he  always  bore, 
To  aid  him  to  eat,    By  way  of  a  treat, 
The  "  natives  "  he  found  on  the  Ked  Sea  shore  ; — 

He  whipp'd  out  his  Brummagem  blade  so  keen, 
And  he  made  three  slits  in  the  buffalo's  hide, 

And  all  its  contents, 

Through  the  rents,  and  the  vents, 
Came  tumbling  out, — and  away  they  all  hied! 


292  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Away  went  the  Quaker — away  went  the  Baker, 
Away  went  the  Friar — that  fine  fat  Ghost, 

Whose  marrow  Old  Nick    Had  intended  to  pick, 
Dress'd  like  a  Woodcock,  and  served  on  toast ! 

— Away  went  the  nice  little  Cardinal's  Niece, — 
And  the  pretty  Grisettes, — and  the  Dons  from  Spain — 

And  the  Corsair's  crew,    And  the  coin-clipping  Jew, 
And  they  scamper'd,  like  lamplighters,  over  the  plain. — 

— Old  Nick  is  a  black-looking  fellow  at  best, 
Ay,  e'en  when  he's  pleased ;  but  never  before 

Had  he  look'd  so  black    As  on  seeing  his  sack 
Thus  cut  into  slits  on  the  Red  Sea  shore. 

You  may  fancy  his  rage,  and  his  deep  despair, 
When  he  saw  himself  thus  befool'd  by  one 

Whom,  in  anger  wild,    He  profanely  styled 
"  A  stupid,  old,  snuff-colour'd  son  of  a  gun !  ' 

Then  his  supper — so  nice ! — that  had  cost  him  such  pains— 
— Such  a  hard  day's  work — now  "  all  on  the  go  ! " 

— 'Twas  beyond  a  joke,    And  enough  to  provoke 
The  mildest  and  best-temper'd  Fiend  below ! 

Nick  snatch'd  up  one  of  those  great,  big  stones, 
Found  in  such  numbers  on  Egypt's  plains, 

And  he  hurl'd  it  straight    At  the  Saint's  bald  pate, 
To  knock  out  "  the  gruel  he  call'd  his  brains." 

Straight  at  his  pate  he  hurl'd  the  weight, 
The  crushing  weight  of  that  great,  big  stone  ; 
But  St  Medard    Was  remarkably  hard, 
And  solid  about  the  parietal  bone. 

And,  though  the  whole  weight  of  that  great,  big  stone, 
Came  straight  on  his  pate,  with  a  great,  big  thump, 

It  fail'd  to  graze    The  skin, — or  to  raise 
On  the  tough  epidermis  a  lump,  or  a  bump ! — 

As  the  hail  bounds  off  from  the  pent-house  slope, — 
As  the  cannon  recoils  when  it  sends  its  shot, — 

As  the  finger  and  thumb    Of  an  old  woman  coine 
From  the  kettJ'  she  handles,  and  finds  too  hot ; 


SAINT  MEDARD.  293 

— Or,  as  you  may  see,  in  the  Fleet,  or  the  Bench, — 
— Many  folks  do  in  the  course  of  their  lives, — 

The  well-struck  ball    Rebound  from  the  wall, 
When  the  Gentlemen  jail-birds  are  playing  at  "  fives  : " 

All  these, — and  a  thousand  fine  similes  more, — 
Such  as  all  have  heard  of,  or  seen,  or  read 

Recorded  in  print,    May  give  you  a  hint 
How  the  stone  bounced  off  from  St.  Medard's  hea J  . 

— And  it  curl'd,  and  it  twirl'd,  and  it  whirl'd  in  air, 
As  this  great,  big  stone  at  a  tangent  flew ! 

Just  missing  his  crown,    It  at  last  came  down 
Plump  upon  Nick's  Orthopedical  shoe ! 

Oh  !  what  a  yell  and  a  screech  were  there ! 
How  did  he  hop,  skip,  bellow,  and  roar ! 

— "  Oh  dear !  oh  dear ! " —    You  might  hear  him  here, 
Though  we're  such  a  way  off  from  the  Red  Sea  shore  ! 

It  smash'd  his  shin,  and  it  smash'd  his  hoof, 
Notwithstanding  his  stout  Orthopedical  shoe ; 

And  this  is  the  way    That,  from  that  same  day. 
Old  Nick  became  what  the  French  call  Boiteux ! 

Quakers,  and  Bakers,  Grisettes,  and  Friars, 
And  Cardinal's  Nieces, — wherever  ye  be, 

St.  Medard  bless  ;    You  can  scarcely  do  less 
If  you  of  your  corps  possess  any  esprit. — 

And,  mind  and  take  care,  yourselves, — and  beware 
How  you  get  in  Nick's  buffalo  bag !— if  you  do, 
I  very  much  doubt    If  you'll  ever  get  out, 
Now  sins  are  so  many,  and  Saints  so  few ! ! 

MORAL. 

Gentle  Reader,  attend    To  the  voice  of  a  friend  ! 
And  if  ever  you  go  to  Herne  Bay  or  Southern!, 
Or  any  gay  wat'ring  place  outside  the  Nore, 
Don't  walk  out  at  eve  on  the  lone  sea-shore ! 
—Unless  you're  too  saintly  to  care  about  Nick, 
And  are  sure  that  your  head  is  sufficiently  thick  ! 

Learn  not  to  be  greedy !— and,  Avhen  you've  enough, 
Don't  be  anxious  your  bags  any  tighter  to  stun— 


294  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Recollect  that  good  fortune  too  far  you  may  push, 

And,  "  A  BIRD  IN  THE  HAND  IS  WORTH  TWO  IN  THE  BUSH ! " 

Then  turn  not  each  thought  to  increasing  your  store, 
Nor  look  always  like  "  Oliver  asking  for  more  !  * 

Oourmandise  is  a  vice — a  sad  failing  at  least ; — 

So  remember  "  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast ! " 

And  don't  set  your  heart  on  "stew'd,"  "fried,"  "boil'd,"  or 

"roast," 
Nor  on  delicate  "  Woodcocks  served  up  upon  toast ! '" 

Don't  give  people  nicknames  ! — don't,  even  in  fun ! 

Call  any  one  "snuff-colour'd  son  of  a  gun  ! " 

Nor  fancy,  because  a  man  nous  seems  to  lack, 

That,  whenever  you  please,  you  can  "  give  him  the  sack ! " 

Last  of  all,  as  you'd  thrive,  and  still  sleep  in  whole  bones, 

IF  YOU'VE  ANT  GLASS  WINDOWS  NEVER  THROW  STONES  ! ! ! 


ILorti  of 

A  LEGEND  OP  LANGUEDOC. 

COUNT  RAYMOND  rules  in  Languedoc, 
O'er  the  champaign  fair  and  wide, 
With  town  and  stronghold  many  a  one, 
Wash'd  by  the  wave  of  the  blue  Garonne, 
And  from  far  Auvergne  to  Rousillon, 

And  away  to  Narbonne, 

And  the  mouths  of  the  Rhone ; 
And  his  Lyonnois  silks,  and  his  Narbonne  honey 
Bring  in  his  lordship  a  great  deal  of  money. 

A  thousand  lances,  stout  and  true, 
Attend  Count  Raymond's  call ; 
And  Knights  and  Nobles  of  high  degree, 
From  Guienne,  Provence,  and  Burgundy, 
Before  Count  Raymond  bend  the  knee, 

And  vail  to  him  one  and  all 

And  Isabel  of  Arragon 
He  weds,  the  pride  of  Spain  ; 


THE  LORD  OF  THOULOUSK  295 

You  might  not  find  so  rich  a  prize, 
A  Dame  so  "  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise ; " 
So  pious  withal — with  such  beautiful  eyes — 
So  exactly  the  Venus  de  Medicis'  size — 
In  all  that  wide  domain. 

Then  his  cellar  is  stored    As  well  as  his  board, 
With  the  choicest  of  all  La  Belle  France  can  afford ; 
Chambertin,  Chateau  Margaux,  La  Kose,  and  Lafitte, 
With  Moet's  Champagne,  "  of  the  Comet  year,"  "  neat 
As  imported," — "  fine  sparkling," — and  not  over-sweet ; 
While  his  Chaplain,  good  man,  when  call'd  in  to  say  grace, 
Would  groan,  and  put  on  an  elongated  face 
At  such  turtle,  such  turbot,  John  Dory,  and  plaice ; 
Not  without  blushing,  pronouncing  a  benison, 
Worthy  old  soul !  on  such  very  fat  venison, 

Sighing  to  think    Such  victuals  and  drink 
Are  precisely  the  traps  by  which  Satan  makes  men  his  own. 

And  grieving  o'er  scores    Of  huge  barbecued  Boars, 
Which  he  thinks  should  not  darken  a  Christian  man's  doors, 
Though  'twas  all  very  well  Pagan  Poets  should  rate  'em 
As  "  Animal  propter  convivia  natum" 

He  was  right,  I  must  say,    For  at  this  time  of  day, 
When  we're  not  so  precise,  whether  cleric  or  lay, 
With  respect  to  our  food,  as  in  time  so  passe, 
We  still  find  our  Boars,  whether  grave  ones  or  gay, 
After  dinner,  at  least,  very  much  in  the  way, 
(We  spell  the  word  now  with  an  E,  not  an  A  ; ) 
And  as  honest  Pere  Jacques  was  inclined  to  spare  diet,  he 
Gave  this  advice  to  all  grades  of  society, 
"  Think  less  of  pudding — and  think  more  of  piety." 

As  to  his  clothes,    Oh !  nobody  knows 
What  lots  the  Count  had  of  cloaks,  doublets,  and  hose, 

Panioufles,  with  bows,    Each  as  big  as  a  rose, 
And  such  shirts  with  lace  ruffles,  such  waistcoats,  and  those 
Indescribable  garments  it  is  not  thought  right 
To  do  more  than  whisper  to  oreilles  polite. 

Still  in  spite  of  his  power,  and  in  spite  of  his  riches, 
In  spite  of  his  dinners,  his  dress,  and  his which  is 


296  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  strangest  of  all  things — in  spite  of  his  Wife, 
The  Count  led  a  rather  hum-drum  sort  of  life. 
He  grew  tired,  in  fact,  of  mere  eating  and  drinking, 
Grew  tired  of  flirting,  and  ogling,  and  winking 

At  nursery  maids    As  they  walk'd  the  Parades, 
The  Crescents,  the  Squares,  and  the  fine  Colonnades, 
And  the  other  gay  places,  which  young  ladies  use 
As  their  promenade  through  the  good  town  of  Thoulouse. 

He  was  tired  of  hawking,  and  fishing,  and  hunting, 
Of  billiards,  short-whist,  chicken-hazard,  and  punting  ; 

Of  popping  at  pheasants, 

Quails,  woodcocks,  and  peasants ; 

Of  smoking,  and  joking,    And  soaking,  provoking 

Such  headaches  next  day    As  his  fine  St.  Peray, 
Though  the  best  of  all  Rhone  wines,  can  never  repay. 
Till  weary  of  war,  women,  roast-goose,  and  glory, 
With  no  great  desire  to  be  "  famous  in  story," 

All  the  day  long,    This  was  his  song, 
"  Oh,  dear !  what  will  become  of  us  ? 

Oh,  dear  !  what  shall  we  do  1 
We  shall  die  of  blue  devils  if  some  of  us 

Can't  hit  on  something  that's  new !" 
Meanwhile  his  sweet  Countess,  so  pious  and  good, 
Such  pomps  and  such  vanities  stoutly  escheVd, 
With  all  fermented  liquors  and  high-season'd  food, 
Devill'd  kidneys,  and  sweet-breads,  and  ducks  and  green  pea.s 
Baked  sucking-pig,  goose,  and  all  viands  like  these, 
Hash'd  calf  s-head  included,  no  longer  could  please ; 
A  curry  was  sure  to  elicit  a  breeze, 
So  was  ale,  or  a  glass  of  port- wine  after  cheese  : 

Indeed,  anything  strong,    As  to  tipple,  was  wrong  ; 
She  stuck  to  "  fine  Hyson,"  "  Bohea,"  and  "  Souchong," 
And  similar  imports  direct  from  Hong- Kong. 
In  vain  does  the  family  Doctor  exhort  her 
To  take  with  her  chop  one  poor  half -pint  of  porter  ; 

No !  she  alleges    She's  taken  the  pledges ! 

Determined  to  aid    In  a  gen'ral  crusade 
Against  publicans,  vintners,  and  all  of  that  trade, 
And  to  bring  in  sherbet,  ginger-pop,  lemonade, 
Eau  sucree,  and  drinkables,  mild  and  home-made ! 


THE  LORD  OF  THOULOU&E.  297 

So  she  claims  her  friends'  efforts,  and  vows  to  devote  all  hen? 
Solely  to  found  "  The  Thoulousian  Teetotalers." 

Large  sums  she  employs    In  dressing  small  boys 
In  long  duffle  jackets,  and  short  corderoys, 
And  she  boxes  their  ears  when  they  make  too  much  noise  ; 
In  short,  she  turns  out  a  complete  Lady  Bountiful, 
Filling  with  drugs  and  brown  Holland  the  county  full. 

Now  just  at  the  time  when  our  story  commences, 

It  seems  that  a  case    Past  the  common  took  place, 
To  entail  on  her  ladyship  further  expenses, 
In  greeting  with  honour  befitting  his  station 
The  Prior  of  Aries,  with  a  Temperance  Legation, 
Dispatched  by  Pope  Urban,  who  seized  the  occasion 
To  aid  in  diluting  that  part  of  the  nation. 

An  excellent  man,    One  who  stuck  to  his  can 
Of  cold  water  "  without " — and  he'd  take  such  a  lot  of  it : 

None  of  your  sips    That  just  moistens  the  lips  ; 
At  one  single  draught  he'd  toss  off  a  whole  pot  of  it,— 

No  such  bad  thing,    By  the  way,  if  they  bring 
It  you  iced  as  at  Verey's,  or  fresh  from  the  spring. 
When  the  Dog-star  compels  folks  in  town  to  take  wing, 
Though  I  own  even  then  I  should  see  no  great  sin  in  it, 
Were  there  three  drops  of  Sir  Felix's  gin  in  it. 

Well,  leaving  the  lady  to  follow  her  pleasure, 
And  finish  the  pump  with  the  Prior  at  leisure, 
Let's  go  back  to  Ptaymond,  still  bored  beyond  measure, 
And  harping  away,    On  the  same  dismal  lay, 

"  Oh  dear  !  what  will  become  of  us  1 

Oh  dear !  what  can  we  do  ? 
We  shall  die  of  blue  devils  if  some  of  us 
Can't  find  out  something  that's  new ! " 
At  length  in  despair  of  obtaining  his  ends 
By  his  own  mother  wit,  he  takes  courage  and  sends, 
Like  a  sensible  man  as  he  is,  for  his  friends, 
Not  his  Lyndhursts  or  Eldons,  or  any  such  high  sirs, 
But  only  a  few  of  his  u  backstairs  "  advisers ; 

"  Come  hither,"  says  he,    "  My  gallants  so  f  ree, 
My  bold  Rigmarole,  and  my  brave  Rigmaree, 
And  my  grave  Baron  Proser,  now  listen  to  me ! 
You  three  can't  but  see  I'm  half  dead  with  ennui. 


298  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

What's  to  be  done  1    I  must  have  some  fun, 
And  I  will  too,  that's  flat — ay,  as  sure  as  a  gun. 
So  find  me  out  "  something  new  under  the  sun," 
Or  I'll  knock  your  three  jobbernowls  all  into  one ! 

You  three    Agree !    Come,  what  shall  it  be  1 
Resolve  me — propound  in  '  three  skips  of  a  flea ! ' " 
Rigmarole  gave  a  "  Ha !  "  Rigmaree  gave  a  "  Hem ; " 
They  look'd  at  Count  Raymond — Count  Raymond  at  them, 
As  much  as  to  say,  "  Have  you  nihil  ad  rent  ?  " 

At  length  Baron  Proser    Responded,  "  You  know,  sir, 
That  question's  some  time  been  a  regular  poser  ; 

Dear  me ! — let  me  see, — In  the  way  of  a  '  spree ' 

Something  new  1 — Eh  ! — No  ! — Yes ! No ! — 'tis  really  no  go, 

sir." 

Says  the  Count,  "  Rigmarole,    You're  as  jolly  a  soul, 
On  the  whole,  as  King  Cole,  with  his  pipe  and  his  bowl  ; 
Come,  I'm  sure  you'll  devise  something  novel  and  droll" — 
In  vain, — Rigmarole,  with  a  look  most  profound, 
With  his  hand  to  his  heart  and  his  eye  to  the  ground, 
Shakes  his  head  as  if  nothing  was  there  to  be  found. 

"  I  can  only  remark,    That  as  touching  a  '  lark ' 
I'm  as  much  as  your  Highness  can  be,  in  the  dark  ; 
I  can  hit  on  no  novelty — none,  on  my  life, 
Unless,  peradventure,  you'd '  tea '  with  your  wife ! " 

Quoth  Raymond,  "  Enough  ! 

Nonsense  ! — humbug ! — fudge ! — stuff ! 
Rigmarole,  you're  an  ass, — you're  a  regular  Muff! 
Drink  tea  with  her  ladyship  ? — 1 1 — not  a  bit  of  it ! 
Call  you  that  fun  ? — faith,  I  can't  see  the  wit  of  it ; 

Mort  de  ma  vie  I    My  dear  Rigmaree, 
You're  the  man,  after  all, — come,  by  way  of  a  fee, 
If  you  will  but  be  bright,  from  the  simple  degree 
Of  a  knight  I'll  create  you  at  once  a  Mar-quis ! 
Put  your  conjuring  cap  on — consider  and  see, 
If  you  can't  beat  that  stupid  old  '  Sumph '  with  his  '  tea ! '" 

"  That's  the  thing  !  that  will  do  !    Ay,  marry,  that's  new ! " 
Cries  Rigmaree,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  that  will  please — 
My  '  Conjuring  cap '  it's  the  thing  ; — it's  '  the  cheese  ! ' 
It  was  only  this  morning  I  pick'd  up  the  news ; 
Please  your  Highness,  a  Conjurer's  come  to  Thoulouse ; 


THE  LORD  OF  THOULOUSE.  299 

I'll  defy  you  to  name  us    A  man  half  so  famous 
For  devildoms, — Sir,  it's  the  great  Nostradamus ; 
Cornelius  Agrippa,  'tis  said,  went  to  school  to  him, 
Gyngell's  an  ass,  and  old  Faustus  a  fool  to  him. 
Talk  of  Lilly,  Albertus,  Jack  Dee  ! — pooh !  all  six 
He'd  soon  put  in  a  pretty  particular  fix  ; 
Why,  he'd  beat  at  digesting  a  sword,  or  '  Gun  tricks,' 
The  great  Northern  Wizard  himself  all  to  sticks ! 

I  should  like  to  see  you    Try  to  sauter  le  coup 
With  this  chap  at  short  whist,  or  unlimited  loo, 
By  the  Pope,  you'd  soon  find  it  a  regular  '  Do .' 
Why,  he  does  as  he  likes  with  the  cards, — when  he's  got  'em 
There's  always  an  Ace  or  a  King  at  the  bottom ; 
Then  for  casting  Nativities  !— Only  you  look 
At  the  volume  he's  publish'd, — that  wonderful  book  ! 
In  all  France  not  another,  to  swear  I  dare  venture,  is 
Like,  by  long  chalks,  his  '  Prophetical  Centuries ' — 
Don't  you  remember  how,  early  last  summer,  he 
Warn'd  the  late  Bang  'gainst  the  Tournament  mummery  ? 
Didn't  his  Majesty  call  it  all  flummery, 

Scorning   ;The  Warning,    And  get  the  next  morning 
His  poke  in  the  eye  from  that  clumsy  Montgomery  ? 

Why,  he'll  tell  you,  before    You're  well  inside  his  door, 
All  your  Highness  may  wish  to  be  up  to,  and  more  ! " 
"  Bravo  ! — capital ! — come,  let's  disguise  ourselves — quick ! 
— Fortune's  sent  him  on  purpose  here,  just  in  the  nick ; 
We'll  see  if  old  Hocus  will  smell  out  the  trick ', 
Let's  start  off  at  once — Bigmaree,  you're  a  Brick !  " 


The  moon  in  gentle  radiance  shone 
O'er  lowly  roof  and  lordly  bower, 
O'er  holy  pile  and  armed  tower, 
And  danced  upon  the  blue  Garonne  : 
Through  all  that  silver'd  city  fair, 
No  sound  disturb'd  the  calm,  cool  air, 

Save  the  lover's  sigh  alone  I 
Or  where,  perchance,  some  slumberer's  nose 
Proclaim'd  the  depth  of  his  repose, 
Provoking  from  connubial  toes 
A  hint — or  elbow  bone ; 


800  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

It  might,  with  such  trifling  exceptions,  be  said, 

That  Thoulouse  was  as  still  as  if  Thoulouse  were  dead, 

And  her  "oldest  inhabitant"  buried  in  lead. 

But  hark !  a  sound  invades  the  ear, 

Of  horses'  hoofs  advancing  near ! 

They  gain  the  bridge — they  pass— they're  here ! 

Side  by  side    Two  strangers  ride, 
For  the  streets  in  Thoulouse  are  sufficiently  wide, 
That  is,  I'm  assured  they  are — not  having  tried. 

— See,  now  they  stop    Near  an  odd-looking  shop, 
And  they  knock  and  they  ring,  and  they  won't  be  denied. 
At  length  the  command    Of  some  unseen  hand 
Chains,  and  bolts,  and  bars  obey, 
And  the  thick-ribb'd  oaken  door,  old  and  grey. 
In  the  pale  moonlight  gives,  slowly,  way. 

They  leave  their  steeds  to  a  page's  care, 
Who  comes  mounted  behind  on  a  Flanders  mare, 
And  they  enter  the  house,  that  resolute  pair, 
With  a  blundering  step,  but  a  dare-devil  air, 
And  ascend  a  long,  darksome,  and  rickety  stair ; 
While,  arm'd  with  a  lamp  that  just  helps  you  to  see 
How  uncommonly  dark  a  place  can  be, 
The  grimmest  of  lads  with  the  grimmest  of  grins, 
Says,  "  Gentlemen,  please  to  take  care  of  your  shins  ! 
Who  ventures  this  road  need  be  firm  on  his  pins  ! 
Now  turn  tr,  the  left— now  turn  to  the  right — 
Now  a  step — now  stoop — now  again  upright — 
Now  turn  once  again,  and  directly  before  ye 
's  the  door  of  the  great  Doctor's  Labora-tory." 

A  word !  a  blow !    And  in  they  go  ! 
No  time  to  prepare,  or  to  get  up  a  show, 
Yet  everything  there  they  find  quite  comme  il  faut — 
Such  as  queer-looking  bottles  and  jars  in  a  row, 
Retorts,  crucibles,  such  as  all  conjurer's  stow 
In  the  rooms  they  inhabit,  huge  bellows  to  blow 
The  fire  burning  blue  with  its  sulphur  and  tow  ! 
From  the  roof  a  huge  crocodile  hangs  rather  low, 
With  a  tail  such  as  that,  which  we  all  of  us  know, 
Mr.  Waterton  managed  to  tie  in  a  bow , 


THE  LORD  OF  THOULOUSE.  801 

Pickled  snakes,  potted  lizards,  in  bottles  and  basins, 
Like  those  at  Morel's,  or  at  Fortnum  and  Mason's, 
All  articles  found,  you're  aware  without  telling, 
In  every  respectable  conjurer's  dwelling. 

Looking  solemn  and  wise,    Without  turning  his  eyes, 
Or  betraying  the  slightest  degree  of  surprise. 
In  the  midst  sits  the  doctor — his  hair  is  white, 
And  his  cheek  is  wan — but  his  glance  is  bright, 
And  his  long  black  roquelaure,  not  over  tight, 
Is  mark'd  with  strange  characters,  much,  if  not  quite, 
Like  those  on  the  bottles  of  green  and  blue  light 
Which  you  see  in  a  chymist's  shop-window  at  night. 
His  figure  is  tall  and  erect — rather  spare  about 
Ribs, — and  no  wonder, — such  folk  never  care  about 

Eating  or  drinking,    While  reading  and  thinking 
Don't  fatten — his  age  might  be  sixty  or  thereabout. 

Raising  his  eye  so  grave  and  so  sage, 

From  some  manuscript  work  of  a  bygone  age, 

The  seer  very  composedly  turns  down  the  page, 

Then  shading  his  sight    With  his  hand  from  the  light, 
Says,  "  Well,  sirs,  what  would  you  at  this  time  of  night  1 
What  brings  you  abroad  these  lone  chambers  to  tread, 
When  all  sober  folks  are  at  home  and  abed  ? " 

"  TraVlers,  we,    In  our  degree, 

All  strange  sights  we  fain  would  see, 

And  hither  we  come  in  company ; 
We  have  far  to  go,  and  we  come  from  far, 
Through  Spain  and  Portingale,  France  and  Navarre ; 

We  have  heard  of  your  name, 

And  your  fame,  and  our  aim, 
Great  sir,  is  to  witness,  ere  yet  we  depart 
From  Thoulouse, — and  to-morrow  at  cock-crow  we  start  - 
Your  skill — we  would  fain  crave  a  touch  of  your  art ! " 

"  Now  naye,  now  naye — no  trav'lers  ye ! 

Nobles  ye  be    Of  high  degree ! 
With  half  an  eye  that  one  may  easily  see, — 
Count  Raymond,  your  servant !— Yours,  Lord  Rigmaree  f 
I  must  call  you  so  now  since  you're  made  a  Mar-quis ; 
Faith,  clever  boys  both,  but  you  can't  humbug  me  ! 


802  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS 

No  matter  for  that !    I  see  what  you'd  be  at — 

Well — pray  no  delay,    For  it's  late,  and  ere  day 
I  myself  must  be  hundreds  of  miles  on  my  way ; 
So  tell  me  at  once  what  you  want  with  me — say ! 

Shall  I  call  up  the  dead    From  their  mouldering  bed  1 — 
Shall  I  send  you  yourselves  down  to  Hades  instead  1 — 
Shall  I  summon  old  Harry  himself  to  the  spot  1 " 
— "  Ten  thousand  thanks,  No !  we  had  much  rather  not. 

We  really  can't  say    That  we're  curious  that  way  ; 
But,  in  brief,  if  you'll  pardon  the  trouble  we're  giving, 
We'd  much  rather  take  a  sly  peep  at  the  living  ! 

Kigmaree,  what  say  you,  in    This  case,  as  to  viewing 
Our  spouses,  and  just  ascertain  what  they're  doing  ? " 
"  Just  what  pleases  your  Highness — I  don't  care  a  sous  in 
The  matter — but  don't  let  old  Nick  and  his  crew  in ! " 
— "  Agreed ! — pray  proceed,  then,  most  sage  Nostradamus, 
And  show  us  our  wives — I  dare  swear  they  won't  shame  us ! " 

A  change  came  o'er  the  wizard's  face, 

And  his  solemn  look  by  degrees  gives  place 

To  a  half  grave,  half  comical,  kind  of  grimace. 

"  For  good  or  for  ill,    I  work  your  will  1 

Yours  be  the  risk  and  mine  the  skill ; 

Blame  not  my  art  if  unpleasant  the  pill ! " 

He  takes  from  a  shelf,  and  he  pops  on  his  head, 
A  square  sort  of  cap,  black,  and  turn'd  up  with  red, 
And  desires  not  a  syllable  more  may  be  said  ; 

He  goes  on  to  mutter, 

And  stutter,  and  sputter 
Hard  words,  such  as  no  men  but  wizards  dare  utter. 

"  Dies  mies ! — Hocus  pocus — 

Adsis  Demon !  non  est  jokus ! 

Hi  Cocolorum — don't  provoke  us ! 

Adesto !  Presto !  Put  forth  your  best  toe ! " 
And  many  more  words,  to  repeat  which  would  choke  us, — 
Such  a  sniff  then  of  brimstone ! — it  did  not  last  long, 
Or  they  could  not  have  borne  it,  the  smell  was  so  strong, 

A  mirror  is  near,  So  large  and  so  clear, 
Jf  you  priced  such  a  one  in  a  drawing-room  here, 


THE  LORD  OF  TIIOULOUSE.  303 

And  was  ask'd  fifty  pounds,  you'd  not  say  it  was  dear ; 
But  a  mist  gathered  round  at  the  words  of  the  seer, 

Till  at  length  as  the  gloom    Was  subsiding,  a  room 
On  its  broad  polish'd  surface  began  to  appear, 
And  the  Count  and  his  comrade  saw  plainly  before  'em 
The  room  Lady  Isabel  called  her  "Sanctorum." 

They  start,  well  they  might, 

With  surprise,  at  the  sight — 
Methinks  I  hear  some  lady  say,  "  Serve  'em  right ! * 

For  on  one  side  of  the  fire    Is  seated  the  Prior, 

At  the  opposite  corner  a  fat  little  Friar  : 
By  the  side  of  each  gentleman,  easy  and  free, 
Sits  a  lady,  as  close  as  close  well  may  be, 
She  might  almost  as  well  have  been  perch'd  on  his  knee. 

Dear  me  !  dear  me !    Why  one's  Isabel — she 
On  the  opposite  side's  La  Marquise  Rigmaree  I 

To  judge  from  the  spread 

On  the  board,  you'd  have  said, 
That  the  partie  quarree  had  like  aldermen  fed ; 
And  now  from  long  flasks,  with  necks  cover'd  with  lead, 
They  were  helping  themselves  to  champagne,  white  and  red 

Hobbing  and  nobbing,    And  nodding  and  bobbing, 

With  many  a  sip    Both  from  cup  and  from  lip, 
And  with  many  a  toast  follow'd  up  by  a  "  Hip ! — 
Hip  ! — hip ! — huzzay ! " — The  Count,  by  the  way, 
Though  he  sees  all  they're  doing,  can't  hear  what  they  say, 

Notwithstanding  both  he 

And  Mar-quis  Rigmaree 
Are  so  vex'd  and  excited  at  what  they  can  see, 
That  each  utters  a  sad  word  beginning  with  D. 


That  word  once  spoke    The  silence  broke, 
In  an  instant  the  vision  is  cover'd  with  smoke ! 
But  enough  has  been  seen.    "  Horse  !  horse !  and  away ! ' 
They  have,  neither,  the  least  inclination  to  stay, 
E'en  to  thank  Nostradamus,  or  ask  what's  to  pay. — 

They  rush  down  the  stair, 

How,  they  know  not,  nor  care. 
The  next  moment  the  Count  is  astride  on  his  bay, 
And  my  Lord  Rigmaree  on  his  mettlesome  grey  ; 


804  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

They  dash  through  the  town, 

Now  up,  and  now  down  ; 

And  the  stones  rattle  under  the  hoofs  as  they  ride, 
As  if  poor  Thoulouse  were  as  mad  as  Cheapside  : 

Through  lane,  alley,  and  street, 

Over  all  that  they  meet, 

The  Count  leads  the  way  on  his  courser  so  fleet, 
My  Lord  Bigmaree  close  pursuing  his  beat, 
With  the  page  in  the  rear  to  protect  the  retreat, 
Where  the  bridge  spans  the  river,  so  wide  and  so  deep, 
Their  headlong  career  o'er  the  causeway  they  keep, 
Upsetting  the  watchman,  two  dogs,  and  a  sweep, 
All  the  town  population  that  was  not  asleep. 
They  at  length  reach  the  castle,  just  outside  the  town 
Where — in  peace  it  was  usual  for  Knights  of  renown 
The  portcullis  was  up,  and  the  drawbridge  was  down. 
They  dash  by  the  sentinels — "  France  et  Thoulouse ! " 
EVry  soldier  ( — they  then  wore  cock'd  hats  and  long  queues^ 
Appendages  banish'd  from  modern  reviews), 
His  arquebus  lower"d,  and  bow'd  to  his  shoes ; 
While  Count  Raymond  push'd  on  to  his  lady's  boudoir — he 
Had  made  up  his  mind  to  make  one  at  her  soiree. 

He  rush'd  to  that  door,    Where  ever  before 
He  had  rapp'd  with  his  knuckles,  and  "  tirl'd  at  the  pin." 
Till  he  heard  the  soft  sound  of  his  Lady's  "  Come  in  ! " 
But  now,  with  a  kick  from  his  iron-heel'd  boot, 
Which,  applied  to  a  brick  wall,  at  once  had  gone  through't, 

He  daah'd  open  the  lock  j 

It  gave  way  at  the  shock ! 
( — Dear  ladies,  don't  think  in  recording  the  fact, 
That  your  bard's  for  one  moment  defending  the  act. 
No — it  is  not  a  gentleman's — none  but  a  low  body — 
No — could  perform  it) — and  there  he  saw — NOBODY  ! ! 

Nobody  1— No ! !    Oh,  ho !— Oh,  ho ! 
There  was  not  a  table, — there  was  not  a  chair 
Of  all  that  Count  Raymond  had  ever  seer  there 
(They'd  maroon-leather  bottoms  well  stuff  d  with  horse-hair) 

That  was  out  of  its  place  ! —    There  was  not  a  trace 
Of  a  party — there  was  not  a  dish  or  a  plate — 
No  sign  of  a  table-cloth — nothing  to  prate 
Of  a  supper,  symposium,  or  sitting  up  late  ; 


THE  LORD  OF  THOULOUSE.  305 

There  was  not  a  spark  of  fire  left  in  the  grate, 
It  had  all  been  poked  out,  and  remain'd  in  that  state. 
If  there  was  not  a  fire,    Still  less  was  there  Friar, 
Marquise,  or  long  glasses,  or  Countess,  or  Prior. 
And  the  Count,  who  rush'd  in  open-mouth'd,  was  struck  dumb, 
And  could  only  ejaculate,  "  Well! — this  is  rum." 

He  rang  for  the  maids — had  them  into  the  room 
With  the  butler,  the  footman,  the  coachman,  the  groom. 
He  examined  them  all  very  strictly — but  no ! 
Notwithstanding  he  cross-  and  re-questioned  them  so, 
Twas  in  vain — it  was  clearly  a  case  of  "  No  Go  ! " 

"Their  lady,"  they  said,    "  Had  gone  early  to  bed, 
Having  rather  complain'd  of  a  cold  in  her  head — 
The  stout  little  Friar,  as  round  as  an  apple, 
Had  pass'd  the  whole  night  in  a  vigil  in  chapel, 
While  the  Prior  himself,  as  he'd  usually  done, 
Had  rung  in  the  morning,  at  half -after  one, 
For  his  jug  of  cold  water  and  twopenny  bun, 
And  been  visible,  since  they  were  brought  him,  to  none. 

But,"  the  servants  averr'd, 

"  From  the  sounds  that  were  heard 
To  proceed  now  and  then  from  the  father's  sacellum, 

They  thought  he  was  purging 

His  sins  with  a  scourging, 
And  making  good  use  of  his  knotted  flagellwm," 

For  Madame  Rigmaree,    They  all  testified,  she 
Had  gone  up  to  her  bed-chamber  soon  after  tea, 
And  they  really  supposed  that  there  still  she  must  be, 

Which  her  spouse  the  Mar-quis, 

Found  at  once  to  agree 
With  the  rest  of  their  tale,  when  he  ran  up  to  sea 

Alack  for  Count  Raymond !  he  could  not  conceive 
How  the  case  really  stood,  or  know  what  to  believe  ; 
Nor  could  Rigmaree  settle  to  laugh  or  to  grieve. 

There  was  clearly  a  hoax,    But  which  of  the  folks 
Had  managed  to  make  them  the  butt  of  their  jokes, 
Wife  or  wizard,  they  both  knew  no  more  than  Jack  Nokes  ; 

That  glass  of  the  wizard's 

Stuck  much  in  their  gizzards, 
His  cap,  and  his  queer  cloak  all  'Xs  and  Izzarrls  ; 


306  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS, 

Then  they  found,  when  they  came  to  examine  again, 
Some  slight  falling  off  in  the  stock  of  champagne, 
Small,  but  more  than  the  butler  could  fairly  explain. 
However,  since  nothing  could  make  the  truth  known, 
Why, — they  thought  it  was  best  to  let  matters  alone. 

The  Count  in  the  garden    Begg"d  Isabel's  pardon 
Next  morning  for  waking  her  up  in  a  fright, 
By  the  racket  he'd  kick*d  up  at  that  time  of  night : 
And  gave  her  his  word  he  had  ne'er  misbehaved  so, 
Had  he  not  come  home  as  tipsy  as  David's  sow. 
Still,  to  give  no  occasion  for  family  snarls, 
The  Friar  was  pack'd  back  to  his  convent  at  Aries. 

While  as  for  the  Prior,    At  Kaymond's  desire, 
The  Pope  raised  his  reverence  a  step  or  two  higher, 
And  made  him  a  bishop  inpartibus — where 
His  see  was  I  cannot  exactly  declare, 
Or  describe  his  cathedral,  not  having  been  there, 
But  I  dare  say  you'll  all  be  prepared  for  the  news, 
When  I  say  'twas  a  good  many  miles  from  Thoulouse. 
Where  the  prelate,  in  order  to  set  a  good  precedent, 
Was  enjoin'd,  as  a  sine  qua  non,  to  be  resident. 

You  will  fancy  with  me, 

That  Count  Raymond  was  free, 
For  the  rest  of  his  life,  from  his  former  ennui ; 
Still  it  somehow  occurr'd  that  as  often  as  he 
Chanced  to  look  in  the  face  of  my  Lord  Rigmaree, 
There  was  something  or  other — a  trifling  degree 
Of  constraint — or  embarrassment — easy  to  see, 
And  which  seem'd  to  be  shared  by  the  noble  Mar-quis, 
While  the  ladies — the  queerest  of  all  things  by  half  in 
My  tale — never  met  from  that  hour  without  laughing. 

MORAL. 

Good  gentlemen,  all,  who  are  subjects  of  Hymen, 
Don't  make  new  acquaintances  rashly,  but  try  men, 
Avoid  above  all  things  your  cunning  (that's  sly)  men  ! 
Don't  go  out  o'  nights    To  see  conjuring  sleights, 
But  shun  all  such  people,  delusion  whose  trade  is  ; 
Be  wise ! — stay  at  home  and  take  tea  with  the  ladies. 

If  you  chance  to  be  out,    At  a  "  regular  bout," 
And  get  too  much  of  "  Abbot's  Pale  Ale  "  or  "  Brown  Stout," 


THE    WEDDINQ-DAY.  307 

Don't  be  cross  when  you  come  home  at  night  to  your  spouse, 

Nor  be  noisy,  nor  kick  up  a  dust  in  the  house  1 

Be  careful  yourself,  and  admonish  your  sons, 

To  beware  of  all  folks  who  love  twopenny  buns ! 

And  don't  introduce  to  your  wife  or  your  daughter, 

A  sleek,  meek,  weak  gent — who  subsists  on  cold  water ! 


OR,  THE  BUCCANEER'S    CURSE. 
A  FAMILY  LEGEND. 

IT  has  a  jocund  sound, 

That  gleeful  marriage  chime, 

As  from  the  old  and  ivied  tower, 

It  peals,  at  the  early  matin  hour, 
Its  merry,  merry  round ; 

And  the  Spring  is  in  its  prime, 

And  the  song-bird,  on  the  spray, 

Trills  from  his  throat,  in  varied  note, 
An  emulative  lay — 

It  has  a  joyous  sound ! ! 

And  the  Vicar  is  there  with  his  wig  and  his  book, 
And  the  Clerk,  with  his  grave,  <?wcm"-sanctified  look, 
And  there  stand  the  village  maids,  all  with  their  posies, 
Their  lilies,  and  daffy-down-dillies,  and  roses, 

Dight  in  white,    A  comely  sight, 
Fringing  the  path  to  the  left  and  the  right ; 
— From  our  nursery  days  we  all  of  us  know 
Ne'er  doth  "  Our  Ladye's  garden  grow  " 
So  fair  for  a  "  Grand  Horticultural  Show  " 
As  when  border'd  with  "  pretty  maids  all  on  a  row." 
And  the  urchins  are  there,  escaped  from  the  rule 
Of  that  "  Limbo  of  Infants,"  the  National  School, 

Whooping,  and  bawling,    And  squalling,  and  calling, 

And  crawling,  and  creeping, 

And  jumping,  and  leaping, 


808  THE  INOOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

Bopeeping  'midst  "  many  a  mouldering  heap  "  in 

Whose  bosoms  their  own  "  rude  forefathers  "  are  sleeping. 

— Young  rascals ! — instead  of  lamenting  and  weeping, 

Laughing  and  gay,    A  gorgt-deployee — 
Only  now  and  then  pausing — and  checking  their  play 
To  "  wonder  what  'tis  makes  the  gentlefolks  stay." 

Ah,  well  a-day !    Little  deem  they, 
Poor  ignorant  dears !  the  bells,  ringing  away, 

Are  anything  else    Than  mere  parish  bells, 
Or  that  each  of  them,  should  we  go  into  its  history, 
Is  but  a  "  Symbol "  of  some  deeper  mystery — 

That  the  clappers  and  ropes 

Are  mere  practical  tropes 

Of  "  trumpets  "  and  "  tongues,"  and  of  "  preachers,"  and  popes. 
Unless  Clement  the  Fourth's  worthy  Chaplain,  JDuratut,  err, 
See  the  "  Rationale"  of  that  goosey-gander. 

Gently !  gently,  Miss  Muse ! 

Mind  your  Fs  and  your  O^s  1 
Don't  be  malapert — laugh,  Miss,  but  never  abuse ! 
Calling  names,  whether  done  to  attack  or  to  back  a  schism, 
Is,  Miss,  believe  me,  a  great  piece  of  jack-ass-ism, 

And  as,  on  the  whole,    You're  a  good-natured  soul, 

You  must  never  enact  such  a  pitiful  rdle. 
No,  no,  Miss,  pull  up,  and  go  back  to  your  boys 
In  the  churchyard,  who're  making  this  hubbub  and  noise — 
But  hush !  there's  an  end  to  their  romping  and  mumming, 
For  voices  are  heard — here's  the  company  coming ! 

And  see, — the  avenue  gates  unfold, 

And  forth  they  pace,  that  bridal  train, 
The  grave,  the  gay,  the  young,  the  old, — 

They  cross  the  green  and  grassy  lane, 
Bridesman,  Bridesmaid,  Bridegroom,  Bride, 
Two  by  two,  and  side  by  side, 
Uncles,  and  aunts,  friends  tried  and  proved, 
And  cousins,  a  great  many  times  removed, 
A  fairer  or  a  gentler  she, 
A  lovelier  maid,  in  her  degree, 
Man's  eyes  might  never  hope  to  set-,, 
Than  darling,  bonnie  Maud  Ingoldsby, 
The  floWr  of  that  goodly  company  , 


THE    WEDDING-DAY.  309 

While  whispering  low,  with  bated  voice, 
Close  by  her  side,  her  heart's  dear  choice, 
Walks  Fredvill's  hope,  young  Valentine  Boys. 

— But  where,  oh  where — Is  Ingoldsby's  heir '{ 
Little  Jack  Ingoldsby  1 — where,  oh  where  1 

Why  he's  here, — and  he's  there,    And  he's  everywhere   - 
He's  there,  and  he's  here  ;    In  the  front — in  the  rear,  - 
Now  this  side,  now  that  side, — now  far,  and  now  near — 
The  Puck  of  the  party,  the  darling  "  pet "  boy, 
Full  of  mischief  and  fun,  and  good-humour  and  joy, 
With  his  laughing  blue  eye,  and  his  cheek  like  a  rose, 
And  his  long  curly  locks,  and  his  little  snub  nose  ; 
In  his  tunic,  and  trousers,  and  cap — there  he  goes ! 
Now  pinching  the  bridesman, — now  teasing  his  sister, 
And  telling  the  bridesmaids  how  "  Valentine  kiss'd  her  ; " 
The  torment,  the  plague,  the  delight  of  them  all, 
See,  he's  into  the  churchyard  ! — he's  over  the  wall — 
Gambolling,  frolicking,  capering  away, 
He's  the  first  in  the  church,  be  the  second  who  may ! 


Tie  o'er ;  the  holy  rite  is  done, 

The  rite  that  "  incorporates  two  in  one," 

— And  now  for  the  feasting,  the  frolic,  and  fun ! 

Spare  we  to  tell  of  the  smiling  and  sighing, 

The  shaking  of  hands,  the  embracing,  and  crying, 

The  "  toot— toot— toot "    Of  the  tabour  and  flute, 
Of  the  white-wigg'd  Vicar's  prolong'd  salute, 
Or  of  how  the  blithe  "  College  Youths" — rather  old  stagers, 
Accustom'd,  for  years,  to  pull  bell-ropes  for  wagers — 
Rang,  faster  than  ever,  their  "  triple-bob-MAJORS  ;  " 

(So  loud  as  to  charm  ye,    At  once,  and  alarm  ye  : 
— "  Symbolic  "  of  course,  of  that  rank  in  the  army.) 

Spare  we  to  tell  of  the  fees  and  the  dues 
To  the  "  little  old  woman  that  open'd  the  pews," 
Of  the  largesse  bestowM  on  the  Sexton  and  Clerk, 
Of  the  four-year-old  sheep  roasted  whole  in  the  park, 

Of  the  laughing  and  joking, 

The  quaffing,  and  smoking, 
And  chaffing,  and  broaching — that  is  to  say,  poking 


810  THE  1NGOLD8LY  LEGENDS. 

A  bole  in  a  mighty  magnificent  tub 

Of  what  men,  in  our  hemisphere,  term  "  Humming  Bub," 

But  which  gods, — who,  it  seems,  use  a  different  lingo 

From  mortals, — are  won't  to  denominate  "  Stingo." 

Spare  we  to  tell  of  the  horse-collar  grinning ; 

The  cheese !  the  reward  of  the  ugly  one  winning  ; 

Of  the  young  ladies  racing  for  Dutch  body-linen, — 

— The   soapy-tail'd  sow, — a  rich  prize  when  you've    caught 

her, — 
Of  little  boys  bobbing  for  pippins  in  water ; 

The  smacks  and  the  whacks, 

And  the  jumpers  in  sacks, 

These  down  on  their  noses  and  those  on  their  backs ; — 
Nor  skills  it  to  speak  of  those  darling  old  ditties, 
Sung  rarely  in  hamlets  now — never  in  cities, 
The  "  King  and  the  Miller,11  the  "  Bold  Robin  Hood? 
" Chevy  Chase"  "  GUderoy"  and  the  " Babes  in  the.  Wood / " 

— You'll  say  that  my  taste    Is  sadly  misplaced, 
But  I  can't  help  confessing  these  simple  old  tunes, 
The  "  Auld  Robin  Grays,"  and  the  "  Aileen  Aroons," 
The  "  Gramachree  Mollys,"  and  "  Sweet  Bonny  DOOM," 

Are  dearer  to  me,    In  a  tenfold  degree, 
Than  a  fine  fantasia  from  over  the  sea ; 
And,  for  sweetness,  compared  with  a  Beethoven  fugue,  are 
As  "  best-refined  loaf,"  to  the  coarsest  "  brown  sugar  ; " 
— Alack,  for  the  Bard's  want  of  science !  to  which  he  owes 
All  this  misliking  of  foreign  capricios  I — 

Not  that  he'd  say    One  word,  by  the  way, 
To  disparage  our  new  Idol,  Monsieur  Duprez — 
But  he  grudges,  he  owns,  his  departed  half-guinea, 
Each  Saturday  night  when,  devour'd  by  chagrin,  he 
Sits  listening  to  singers  whose  names  end  in  ini. 


But  enough  of  the  rustics — let's  leave  them  pursuing 
Their  out-of-door  gambols,  and  just  take  a  view  in 
The  inside  the  hall,  and  see  what  they  are  doing ; 

And  first  there's  the  Squire,    The  hale,  hearty  sire 
Of  the  bride, — with  his  coat-tails  subducted  and  higher, 
A  thought,  than  they're  commonly  wont  to  aspire  ; 
His  back  and  his  buckskins  exposed  to  the  fire ; — 


TIIE    WEDDING-DAT.  311 

— Blight,  bright  are  his  buttons, — and  bright  is  the  hue 

Of  his  squarely-cut  coat  of  fine  Saxony  blue ; 

And  bright  the  shalloon  of  his  little  quill'd  queue  ; 

—White,  white  as  "Young  England's,"  the  dimity  vest 

Which  descends  like  an  avalanche  o'er  his  broad  breast, 

Till  its  further  progression  is  put  in  arrest 

By  the  portly  projection  that  springs  from  his  chest, 

Overhanging  the  garment — that  can't  be  exprest ; 

— White,  white  are  his  locks, — which,  had  Nature  fair  play, 

Had  appear'd  a  clear  brown,  slightly  sprinkled  with  grey  ; 

But  they're  white  as  the  peaks  of  Plinlimmon  to-day, 

Or  Ben  Nevis,  his  pate  is  si  bien  poudre  ! 

Bright,  bright  are  the  boots  that  envelop  his  heels, 

— Bright,  bright  is  the  gold  chain  suspending  his  seals, 

And  still  brighter  yet  may  the  gazer  descry 

The  tear-drop  that  spangles  the  fond  father's  eye 

As  it  lights  on  the  bride — 

His  beloved  one — the  pride 
And  delight  of  his  heart, — sever'd  now  from  his  side  ;- 

But  brighter  than  all,    Arresting  its  fall, 
Is  the  smile,  that  rebukes  it  for  spangling  at  all, 
— A  clear  case,  in  short,  of  what  old  poets  tell,  as 
Blind  Homer  for  instance,  *v  Scucpva-i  yt\as. 

Then,  there  are  the  Bride  and  the  Bridegroom,  withdrawn 
To  the  deep  Gothic  window  that  looks  on  the  lawn, 
Ensconced  on  a  squab  of  maroon-colour'd  leather, 
And  talking — and  thinking,  no  doubt,  of  the  weather. 

But  here  comes  the  party— Koom !  room  for  the  guests, 
In  their  Pompadour  coats,  and  laced  ruffles,  and  vests, 

• — First,  Sir  Charles  Grandison,    Baronet,  and  his  son 
Charles, — the  mamma  does  not  venture  to  "  show  " — 

— Miss  Byron,  you  know,    She  was  call'd  long  ago — 
For  that  lady,  'twas  said,  had  been  playing  the  d — 1 
Last  season,  in  town,  with  her  old  beau,  Squire  Greville, 
Which  very  much  shock'd  and  chagrin'd,  as  may  well  be 
Supposed,  "Doctor  Bartlett,"  and  "Good  Uncle  Selby." 
— Sir  Charles,  of  course,  could  not  give  Greville  his  gruel,  in 
Order  to  prove  his  abhorrence  of  duelling, 


312  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Nor  try  for,  deterr'd  by  the  serious  expense,  a 

Complete  separation,  a  thoro  et  mensd, 

So  he  "  kept  a  calm  sough,"  and  when  ask'd  to  a  party, 

A  dance,  or  a  dinner,  or  tea  and  ecarte, 

He  went  with  his  son,  and  said,  looking  demurely, 

He'd  u  left  her  at  home,  as  she  found  herself  poorly." 

Two  foreigners  near,    "  Of  distinction,"  appear  ; 
A  pair  more  illustrious  you  ne'er  heard  of,  or  saw, 
Count  Ferdinand  Fathom, — Count  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw, 
All  cover'd  with  glitt'ring  bijouterie  and  hair — Poles, 
Whom  Lord  Dudley  Stuart  calls  "Patriot,"— Hook"  Bare  Poles ; ' 
Such  rings,  and  such  brooches,  such  studs,  and  such  pins  ! 

'Twere  hard  to  say  which 

Were  more  gorgeous  and  rich, 
Or  more  truly  Mosaic,  their  chains  or  their  chino  1 
Next  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley, — Mr.  Will  Ramble, 
With  Dame  Lismahago  (nee  Tabitha  Bramble), — 
Mr.  Random  and  Spouse, — Mrs.  Pamela  Booby, 
(Whose  nose  was  acquiring  a  tinge  of  the  ruby, 
And  "  people  did  say  " — but  no  matter  for  that, 
Folks  were  not  then  enlighten'd  by  good  Father  Mat.) — 
— Three  friends  from  "  the  Colonies  "  near  them  were  seen, 
The  Great  Massachusetts  man,  General  Muff  Green, — 
Mr.  Jonathan  W.  Doubikins, — men 
" Influential  some" — and  their  "  smart "  Uncle  Ben  j — 
R^v.  Abraham  Adams  (preferr'd  to  a  stall), — 
— Mr.  Jones  and  his  lady,  from  Allworthy  Hall ; 

— Our  friend  Tom,  by  the  way, 

Had  turn'd  out  rather  gay 
For  a  married  man — certainly  "  people  did  say  " 
He  was  shrewdly  suspected  of  using  his  wife  ill, 
And  being  as  sly  as  his  half-brother  BlifiL — 
(Miss  Seagrim  'tis  well  known,  was  now  in  high  feather, 
And  "  people  did  say,"  they'd  been  seen  out  together, — 
A  fact,  the  "  Boy  Jones,"  who,  in  our  days,  with  malice 
Aforethought,  so  often  got  into  the  Palace, 
Would  seem  to  confirm,  as  'tis  whisperM  he  owns,  he's 
The  son  of  a  natural  son  of  Tom  Jones's.) 
Lady  Bellaston  (mem.  she  had  not  been  invited !) 
Sir  Peregrine  Pickle,  now  recently  knighted, — 
All  joyous,  all  happy,  all  looking  delighted  ! 


THE   WEDDING-DAY.  313 

— It  would  bore  you  to  death  should  I  pause  to  describe, 
Or  enumerate  half  of  the  elegant  tribe 

Who  fill'd  the  back-ground, 

And  among  whom  were  found 
The  elite  of  the  old  country  families  round, 
Such  as  Honey  wood,  Oxenden,  Knatchbull,  and  Norton, 
Matthew  llobinson,  too,  with  his  beard  from  Monk's  Horton. 
The  Faggs,  and  Finch-Hattons,  Tokes,  Derings,  and  Deedses, 
And  Fairfax  (who  then  call'd  the  castle  of  Leeds  his) ; 

Esquires,  Knights,  and  Lords, 

In  bag- wigs  and  swords  ; 

And  the  troops,  and  the  groups, 

Of  fine  Ladies  in  hoops  ; 
The  pompoons,  the  toupees,  and  the  diamonds  and  feathers, 

The  flower'd-silk  sacques 

Which  they  wore  on  their  backs, — 

— How? — sacques  and  pompoons,  with  the  Squire's  boots  and 
leathers  1 — 

Stay  1  stay ! — I  suspect,    Here's  a  trifling  neglect 
On    your    part,    Madame    Muse,    though    you're    commonly 

accurate, 
As  to  costume,  as  brown  Quaker,  or  black  Curate, 

For  once  I  confess,    Here  you're  out  as  to  dress ; — 
You've  been  fairly  caught  napping,  which  gives  me  distress 
For  I  can't  but  acknowledge  it  is  not  the  thing, 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  lace  suit  to  bring 
Into  contact  with  square-cut  coats, — such  as  George  Byng, 
And  poor  dear  Sir  Francis  appear'd  in,  last  spring. — 
So,  having-for  once  been  compell'd  to  acknowledge,  I 
've  made  a  small  hole  in  our  mutual  chronology, — 
Canter  on,  Miss,  without  further  apology, — 

Only  don't  make,    Such  another  mistake, 
Or  you'll  get  in  a  scrape,  of  which  I  shall  partake  ; — 
Enough ! — you  are  sorry  for  what  you  have  done, 
So  dry  your  eyes,  Miss,  blow  your  nose,  and  go  on ! 
Well — the  party  are  met,  all  radiant  and  gay, 
And  how  eVry  person  is  dress'd — we  won't  say ; 
Suffice  it,  they  all  come  glad  homage  to  pay 
To  our  dear  "  bonnie  Maud,"  on  her  own  wedding-day, 
To  dance  at  her  bridal,  and  help  "  throw  the  stocking," 
— A  practice  that's  now  discontinued  as  shocking. 


814  THE  INGOLD3BY  LEGENDS. 

There's  a  breakfast,  they  know —    There  always  is  so 
On  occasions  like  these,  wheresoever  you  go. 
Of  course  there  are  "  lots  "  of  beef,  petted  and  hung, 
Prawns,  lobsters,  cold  fowl,  and  cold  ham,  and  cold  tongue, 
Hot  tea,  and  hot  coffee,  hot  rolls,  and  hot  toast, 
Cold  pigeon-pie  (rook  ?),  and  cold  boil'd  and  cold  roast, 
Scotch  marmalade,  jellies,  cold  creams,  colder  ices — 
Blancmange,  which  young  ladies  say,  so  very  nice  is, — 
Rock-melons  in  thick,  pines  in  much  thinner  slices, — 
Char,  potted  with  clarified  butter  and  spices, 
Renewing  an  appetite  long  past  its  crisis — 
Refined  barley-sugar,  in  various  devices, 
Such  as  bridges,  and  baskets,  and  temples,  and  grottoes — 
And  nasty  French  lucifer  snappers  with  mottoes. 
— In  short,  all  those  gimcracks  together  were  met 
Which  people  of  fashion  tell  Gunter  to  get 
When  they  give  a  grand  dejeuner  a  lafourchette — 
(A  phrase  which,  though  French,  in  our  language  still  lingers, 
Intending  a  breakfast  with  forks  and  not  fingers). 
And  see !  what  a  mountainous  bridecake  ! — a  thing 
By  itself — with  small  pieces  to  pass  through  the  ring  ! 

Now  as  to  the  wines ! — M  Ay,  the  wine  ? "  cries  the  Squire, 
Letting  fall  both  his  coat-tails — which  nearly  take  fire, — 

Rubbing  his  hands,    He  calls  out  as  he  stands, 
To  the  serving-men  waiting  "  his  Honour's  "  commands, 
"  The  wine ! — to  be  sure — here  you,  Harry — Bob — Dick — 

The  wine,  don't   you   hear?  —  bring   us   lights  —  come,    be 

quick ! — 

And  a  crow-bar  to  knock  down  the  mortar  and  brick — 
Say  what  they  may    'Fore  George  we'll  make  way 
Into  old  Roger  Ingoldsby's  cellar  to-day  ; 
And  let  loose  his  captives,  imprison'd  so  long, 
His  flasks,  and  his  casks,  that  he  brick'd  up  so  strong ! " 

"  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear !  Squire  Ingoldsby,  bethink  you  what  you 

do!" 

— Exclaims  old  Mrs.  Botherby,— she  is  in  such  a  stew  !— 
"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  what  do  I  hearl — full  oft  you've  heard 

me  tell 
Of  the  curse  '  Wild  Roger '  left  upon  whoe'er  should  break  his 

cell! 


THE   WEDDING-DAY.  815 

"Full   five-and-twenty   years   are   gone    since   Roger   went 

away, 

As  I  bethink  me,  too,  it  was  upon  this  very  day ! 
And  I  was  then  a  comely  dame,  and  you,  a  springald  gay, 
Were  up  and  down  to  London  town,  at  opera,  ball,  and  play ; 
Your  locks  were  nut-brown  then,  Squire — you  grow  a  little 

grey!— 

'"Wild   Roger,'  so   we   call'd   him   then,   your   grandsire's 

youngest  son, 

He  was  in  truth,    A  wayward  youth, 
We  fear'd  him,  every  one. 

In  ev'ry  thing  he  had  his  will,  (he  would  be  stay'd  by  none), 
And  when  he  did  a  naughty  thing,  he  laugh'd  and  call'd  it  fun ! 
—One  day  his  father  chid  him  sore — I  know  not  what  he'd 

done, 

But  he  scorn'd  reproof ;    And  from  this  roof 
Away  that  night  he  run ! 

•'Seven   years  were   gone   and   over  —  'Wild   Roger'  came 

again, 

He  spoke  of  forays  and  of  frays  upon  the  Spanish  Main ; 
And  he  had  store  of  gold  galore,  and  silks,  and  satins  fine, 
And  flasks,  and  casks  of   Malvoisie,  and   precious  Gascon 

wine! 
Rich  booties  he  had  brought,  he   said,  across  the  western 

wave, 

And  came,  in  penitence  and  shame,  now  of  his  sire  to  crave 
Forgiveness   and   a   welcome   home  —  his   sire   was   in    his 

grave  ! 

"  Your  father  was  a  kindly  man — he  play'd  a  brother's  part, 

He  press'd  his  brother  to  his  breast — he  had  a  kindly  heart. 

Fain  would  he  have  him  tarry  here,  their  common  hearth  to 
share, 

But  Roger  was  the  same  man  still — he  scorn'd  his  brother's 
prayV  I 

He  call'd   his  crew, — away  he  flew,  and  on  those  foreign 
shores 

Got  kill'd  in  some  outlandish  place, — they  call  it  the  Eye- 
sores; 
But  ere  he  went,  and  quitted  Kent, 


516  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

— I  well  recall  the  day, — 
His   flasks    and   casks    of   Gascon    wine   he  safely  'stow'd 

away ; ' 

Within  the  cellar's  deepest  nook  he  safely  stow'd  them  all, 
And  Mason  Jones  brought  bricks  and  stones,  and  they  built 

up  the  wall. 

"  Oh  1  then  it  was  a  fearful  thing  to  hear  '  Wild  Roger's '  ban  ! 
Good  gracious  me !  I  never  heard  the  like  from  mortal  man  : 
'Here's  that,'  quoth  he, '  shall  serve  me  well  when  I  retuni 

at  last, 

A  battered  hulk,  to  quaff  and  laugh  at  toils  and  dangers  past ; 
Accurst  be  he,  whoe'er  he  be,  lays  hand  on  gear  of  mine, 
Till  I  come  back  again  from  sea,  to  broach  my  Gascon  wine ! ' 
And   more  he  said,  which  fill'd  with  dread  all  those  who 

listen'd  there  ; 

In  sooth  my  very  blood  ran  cold,  it  lifted  up  my  hair 
With  very  fear,  to  stand  and  hear  '  Wild  Roger '  curse  and 

swear ! ! 
He  saw  my  fright,  as  well  he  might,  but  still  he  made  his 

game, 
He   call'd   me  'Mother  Bounce- about;'  my  Gracious!  what 

a  name ! 
Nay,  more,  '  an  old ' — some  '  boat- woman,' — I  may  not   say 

for  shame ! — 

Then,  gentle  Master,  pause  awhile,  give  heed  to  what  I  tell, 
Nor  break,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  'Wild    Roger's'  secret 

cell!" 

"  Pooh,  pooh  I  "  said  the  Squire, 

As  he  moved  from  the  fire, 
And  bade  the  old  Housekeeper  quickly  retire  : 

"  Pooh ! — never  tell  me  I    Nonsense !  fiddle-de-dee  1 
What  1 — wait  Uncle  Roger's  return  back  from  sea  ? 

Why  he  may,  as  you  say, 

Have  been  somewhat  too  gay, 
And,  no  doubt,  was  a  broth  of  a  boy  in  his  way ; 
But  what's  that  to  us,  now,  at  this  time  of  day  ? 

What,  if  some  quarrel    With  Dering  or  Darrell — 
— I  hardly  know  which,  but  I  think  it  was  Dering, — 
Sent  him  back  in  a  huff  to  his  old  privateering, 
Or  what  his  unfriends  choose  to  call  Buccaneering ; 


THE   WEDDING-DAT.  S17 

It's  twenty  years  since,  as  we  very  well  know, 
He  was  knock'd  on  the  head  in  a  skirmish,  and  so 
Why  rake  up  '  auld  warld '  tales  of  deeds  long  ago  ? — 
— Foul  befall  him  who  would  touch  the  deposit 
Of  living  man,  whether  in  cellar  or  closet  1 

But  since,  as  I've  said,    Knock'd  on  the  head, 
Uncle  Roger  has  now  been  some  twenty  years  dead  : 

As  for  his  wine,    I'm  his  heir,  and  it's  mine ! 

And  I'd  long  ago  work'd  it  well,  but  that  I  tarried 
For  this  very  day —    And  I'm  sure  you'll  all  say 

I  was  right — when  my  own  darling  Maud  should  get  married  1 

So  lights  and  a  crow-bar  ! — the  only  thing  lies 

On  my  conscience,  at  all,  with  respect  to  this  prize, 

Is  some  little  compunction  anent  the  Excise. 

Come — you,  Master  Jack,    Be  the  first,  and  bring  back 

Whate'er  comes  to  hand — Claret,  Burgundy,  Sack, 

Head  the  party,  and  mind  that  you're  back  in  a  crack  ! " 

Away  go  the  clan,    With  cup  and  with  can, 
Little  Jack  Ingoldsby  leading  the  van  : 
Little  reck  they  of  the  Buccaneer's  ban  : 
Hope  whispers,  "  Perchance  we'll  fall  in  with  strong  beer  too 

here!" 

Blest  thought  I  which  sets  them  all  grinning  from  ear  to  ear ! 
Through  cellar  one,  through  cellars  two, 
Through  cellars  three  they  pass'd  ! 

And  their  way  they  took    To  the  farthest  nook 
Of  cellar  four — the  last  1 
Blithe  and  gay,  they  batter  away, 
On  this  wedding-day  of  Maud's, 
With  all  their  might,  to  bring  to  light, 

"  Wild  Roger's  "  "  Custom-house  frauds !  " 
And  though  stone  and  brick    Be  never  so  thick, 
When  stoutly  assail'd,  they  are  no  bar 

To  the  powerful  charm    Of  a  Yeoman's  arm 
When  wielding  a  decentish  crow-bar  ! 
Down  comes  brick,  and  down  comes  stone, 
One  by  one —    The  job's  half  done ! — 
"  Where  is  he  1 — now  come — where's  Master  John  Ts  — • 
— There's  a  breach  in  the  wall  three  feet  by  two, 
And  little  Jack  Ingoldsby  soon  pops  through  ! 


818  THE  1NOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Hark ! — what  sound's  that  1 — a  sob  1 — a  sigh  ? 
The  choking  gasp  of  a  stifled  cry  1 — 

"  — What  can  it  be  ? —    Let's  see  ? — let's  see  ! 
It  can't  be  little  Jack  Ingoldsby  ? 

The  candle — quick !  " 

Through  stone  and  through  brick, 
They  poke  in  the  light  on  a  long  split  stick  ; 
But  ere  he  who  holds  it  can  wave  it  about, 
He  gasps  and  he  sneezes — the  LIGHT  GOES  OUT  ! 

Yet  were  there  those,  in  after  days, 

Who  said  that  pale  light's  flickering  blaze, 

For  a  moment,  gleam'd  on  a  dark  Form  there, 

Seem'd  as  bodied  of  foul  black  air ! — 

— In  Mariner's  dress, — with  cutlass  braced 

By  buckle  and  broad  black  belt  to  his  waist,— 
On  a  cock'd  hat,  laced    With  gold,  and  placed 

With  a  degage,  devil-may-care,  kind  of  taste, 

O'er  a  balafre  brow  by  a  scar  defaced ! — 

iThat  Form,  they  said,  so  foul  and  so  black, 

Grinn'd  as  it  pointed  at  poor  little  Jack. — 

— I  know  not,  I,  how  the  truth  may  be, 

But  the  pent-up  vapour,  at  length  set  free, 

Set  them  all  sneezing,    And  coughing,  and  wheezing, 
As  working  its  way    To  the  regions  of  day, 

It,  at  last,  let  a  purer  and  healthier  breeze  in ! 

Of  their  senses  bereft,    To  the  right  and  the  left. 
Those  varlets  so  lately  courageous  and  stout, 
There  they  lay  kicking  and  sprawling  about, 
Like  Billingsgate  fresh  fish,  unconscious  of  ice, 
Or  those  which,  the  newspapers  give  us  advice, 
Mr.  Taylor,  of  Lombard  Street,  sells  at  half-price ; 
—Nearer  the  door,  some  half-dozen  or  more ! 

Scramble  away    To  the  rez  de  chaussee 
(As  our  Frenchified  friend  always  calls  his  ground-floor), 
And  they  call,  and  they  bawl,  and  they  bellow  and  roar 
For  lights,  vinegar,  brandy,  and  fifty  things  more. 
At  length,  after  no  little  clamour  and  din, 
The  foul  air  let  out,  and  the  fresh  air  let  in, 

They  drag  one  and  all    Up  into  the  hall, 


THE   WEDDING-DAY.  819 

Where  a  medical  Quaker,  the  great  Dr.  Lettsom, 

Who's  one  of  the  party,  "  bleeds,  physicks,  and  sweats  em." 

All  1— all— save  One—    — "  But  He !— my  Son  1— 
Merciful  Heaven ! — where — WHERE  is  JOHN  1 " 


Within  that  cell,  so  dark  and  deep, 

Lies  One,  as  in  a  tranquil  sleep, 

A  sightfto  make  the  sternest  weep  !— 

— That  little  heart  is  pulseless  now, 

And  cold  that  fair  and  open  brow, 

And  closed  that  eye  that  beam'd  with  joy 

And  hope — "  O  God  1  my  Boy !  my  Boy  I  * 

Enough ! — I  may  not, — dare  not, — show 
The  wretched  Father's  frantic  woe, 
The  Mother's  tearless,  speechless — No  I 
I  may  not  such  a  theme  essay — 
Too  bitter  thoughts  crowd  in  and  stay 
My  pen — sad  memory  will  have  way  I 
Enough ! — at  once  I  close  the  lay, 
Of  fair  Maud's  fatal  Wedding-day ; 

It  has  a  mournful  sound, 

That  single,  solemn  Bell  I 
As  to  the  hills  and  woods  around 

It  flings  its  deep-toned  knell ! 
That  measured  toll  I — alone — apart, 
It  strikes  upon  the  human  heart ! 
— It  has  a  mournful  sound  1 — 

MOKAL. 

Come,  come,  Mrs.  Muse,  we  can't  part  in  this  way, 
Or  you'll  leave  me  as  dull  as  ditch-water  all  day. 
Try  and  squeeze  out  a  Moral  or  two  from  your  lay ! 
And  let  us  part  cheerful,  at  least,  if  not  gay ! 

First  and  foremost  then,  Gentlefolks,  learn  from  my  song, 
Not  to  lock  up  your  wine,  or  malt-liquor,  too  long ! 

Though  port  should  have  age ;    Yet  I  don't  think  it  sage 
To  entomb  it  as  some  of  your  connoisseurs  do, 
Till  it's  losing  in  flavour,  and  body,  and  hue ; 
— I  question  if  keeping  it  does  it  much  good 
After  ten  years  in  bottle  and  three  in  the  wood. 


820  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGEN&S. 

If  any  young  man,  though  a  snubb'd  younger  brother, 
When  told  of  his  faults  by  his  father  and  mother, 
Runs  restive,  and  goes  off  to  sea  in  a  huff, 
Depend  on't,  my  friends,  that  young  man  is  a  Muff! 

Next — ill-gotten  gains    Are  not  worth  the  pains  I — 
They  prosper  with  no  one ! — so  whether  cheroots, 
Or  Havannah  cigars, — or  French  gloves,  or  French  boots,  — 
Whatever  you  want,  pay  the  duty  1  nor  when  you 
Buy  any  such  articles,  cheat  the  revenue ! 

And  "  now  to  conclude," —    For  it's  high  time  I  should,— 
When  you  do  rejoice,  mind, — whatsoever  you  do, 
That  the  hearts  of  the  lowly  rejoice  with  you  too ! — 

Don't  grudge  them  their  jigs, 

And  their  frolics  and  "  rigs," 
And  don't  interfere  with  their  soapy-tail'd  pigs ; 
Nor,  "  because  thou  art  virtuous,"  rail  and  exhale 
An  anathema,  breathing  of  vengeance  and  wail, 
Upon  every  complexion  less  pale  than  sea-kale  ! 
Nor  dismiss  the  poor  man  to  his  pump  and  his  pail, 
With  "  Drink  there  1 — we'll  have  henceforth  no  more  cakes  and 

alell" 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  ROMWOLD. 

IN  Kent,  we  are  told, 

There  was  seated  of  old, 

A  handsome  young  gentleman,  courteous  and  bold, 
He'd  an  oaken  strong-box,  well-replenish'd  with  gold, 
With  broad  lands,  pasture,  arable,  woodland,  and  wold, 
Not  an  acre  of  which  had  been  mortgaged  or  sold  ; 
He'd  a  Plesaunce  and  Hall  passing  fair  to  behold, 
He  had  beeves  in  the  byre,  he  had  flocks  in  the  fold, 
And  was  somewhere  about  five-and-twenty  years  old, 

His  figure  and  face,    For  beauty  and  grace, 
To  the  best  in  the  county  had  scorn'd  to  give  place. 

Small  marvel,  then,    If,  of  women  and  men 
Whom  he  chanced  to  foregather  with,  nine  out  of  ten 
Express'd  themselves  charm'd  with  Sir  Alured  Dunne. 


THE   BLASPHEMER'S*   WARXJtfa.  821 

From  my  earliest  youth    I've  been  taught  as  a  truth, 
A  maxim  which  most  will  consider  as  sooth, 
Though  a  few,  peradventure,  may  think  it  uncouth  : 
There  are  three  social  duties,  the  whole  of  the  swarm 
In  this  great  human  hive  of  ours  ought  to  perform, 
And  that  too  as  soon  as  conveniently  may  be ; 

The  first  of  the  three —    Is  the  planting  a  Tree ! 
The  next,  the  producing  a  Book — then,  a  Baby ! 
(For  my  part,  dear  Reader,  without  any  jesting,  I, 
So  far,  at  least,  have  accomplish'd  my  destiny.) 

From  the  foremost,  i.e.,    The  "  planting  the  Tree," 
The  Knight  may,  perchance,  have  conceived  himself  free, 
Inasmuch  as  that,  which  way  soever  he  looks, 
Over  park,  mead,  or  upland,  by  streamlets  and  brooks. 
His  fine  beeches  and  elms  shelter  thousands  of  rooks  ; 

In  twelve  eighty-two,    There  would  also  accrue 
Much  latitude  as  to  the  article,  Books ; 
But,  if  those  we've  disposed  of,  and  need  not  recall, 
Might,  as  duties,  appear  in  comparison  small, 
One  remain'd,  there  was  no  getting  over  at  all, 
— The  providing  a  male  Heir  for  Bonnington  Hall ; 
Which,  doubtless,  induced  the  good  Knight  to  decide, 
As  a  matter  of  conscience,  on  taking  a  Bride. 

It's  a  very  fine  thing  and  delightful  to  see 
Inclination  and  duty  unite  and  agree, 

Because  it's  a  case    That  so  rarely  takes  place  ; 
In  the  instance  before  us  then  Alured  Deune 
Might  well  be  esteem'd  the  most  lucky  of  men, 

Inasmuch  as  hard  by,    Indeed  so  very  nigh, 
That  her  chimneys,  from  his,  you  might  almost  descry, 
Dwelt  a  Lady  at  whom  he'd  long  cast  a  sheep's  eye, 
One  whose  character  scandal  itself  could  defy, 
While  her  charms  and  accomplishments  rank'd  very  high, 

And  who  would  not  deny  A  propitious  reply, 
But  reflect  back  his  blushes,  and  give  sigh  for  sigh. 
(A  line  that's  not  mine,  but  Tom  Moore's,  by-the-by.) 

There  was  many  a  gay  and  trim  bachelor  near, 
Who  felt  sick  at  heart  when  the  news  met  his  ear, 
K 


322  TUB  1NGOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

That  fair  Edith  Ingoldsby,  she  whom  they  all 
The  "  Rosebud  of  Tappington  "  ceased  not  to  call, 

Was  going  to  say,  "  Honour,  love,  and  obey  " 
To  Sir  Alured  Denne,  Knight,  of  Bonnington  Hall, 
That  all  other  suitors  were  left  in  the  lurch, 
And  the  parties  had  even  been  "  out-ask'd  "  in  church. 

For  every  one  says,    In  those  primitive  days, 
And  I  must  own  I  think  it  redounds  to  their  praise, 
None  dream'd  of  transferring  a  daughter  or  niece 
As  a  bride,  by  an  "  unstamp'd  agreement,"  or  lease, 
Tore  a  Register's  Clerk,  or  a  Justice  of  Peace ; 

While  young  ladies  had  fain  Single  women  remain, 
And  unwedded  maids  to  the  last  "  crack  of  doom  "  stick, 
Ere  marry,  by  taking  a  jump  o'er  a  broomstick. 

So  our  bride  and  bridegroom  agreed  to  appear 

At  holy  St  Romwold's,  a  Priory  near, 

Which  a  long  while  before,  I  can't  say  in  what  year, 

Their  forebears  had  join'd  with  the  neighbours  to  rear, 

And  endowM,  some  with  bucks,  some  with  beef,  some  with 

beer, 
To  comfort  the  friars,  and  make  them  good  cheer. 

Adorning  the  building    With  carving  and  gilding, 
And  stone  altars,  fix'd  to  the  chantries  and  fill'd  in  ; 
(Papistic  in  substance  and  form,  and  on  this  count 
With  Judge  Herbert  Jenner  Fust  justly  at  discount, 
See  Cambridge  Societas  Camdeniensis 
V.  Faulkner,  tert.  prim.  Januarii  Mentis, 
With  "  Judgment  reversed,  cost  of  suit,  and  expenses  ;  "  , 
All  raised  to  St.  Romwold,  with  some  reason,  styled 
By  Duke  Humphrey's  confessor,  "  a  Wonderful  Child," 
For  ne'er  yet  was  Saint,  except  him,  upon  earth 
Who  made  "  his  profession  of  faith  "  at  his  birth, 
And  when  scarce  a  foot  high,  or  six  inches  in  girth, 
Converted  his  "  Ma,"  and  contrived  to  amend  a 
Sad  hole  in  the  creed  of  his  grandsire,  King  Penda. 

Of  course  to  the  shrine    Of  so  young  a  divine 
Flow'd  much  holy  water,  and  some  little  wine, 
And  when  any  young  folks  did  to  marriage  incline, 
The  good  friars  were  much  in  request,  and  not  one 
Was  more  "  sought  unto  "  than  the  Sub-prior,  Mess  John. 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING.  338 

To  him,  there  and  then,    Sir  Alured  Denne 
Wrote  a  three-corner'd  note  with  a  small  crow-quill  pen, 
To  say  what  he  wanted,  and  fix  "  the  time  when," 
And,  as  it's  well  known  that  your  people  of  quality 
Pique  themselves  justly  on  strict  punctuality, 
Just  as  the  clock  struck  the  hour  he'd  nam'd  in  it, 
The  whole  bridal  party  rode  up  to  the  minute. 

Now  whether  it  was  that  some  rapturous  dream, 
Comprehending  "  fat  pullets  and  clouted  cream," 
Had  borne  the  good  man,  in  his  vision  of  bliss, 
Far  off  to  some  happier  region  than  this — 
Or  whether  his  beads,  'gainst  the  fingers  rebelling, 
Took  longer  than  usual  that  morning  in  telling ; 
Or  whether,  his  conscience  with  knotted  cord  purging, 
Mess  John  was  indulging  himself  with  a  scourging, 
In  penance  for  killing  some  score  of  the  fleas, 
Which,  infesting  his  hair-shirt,  deprived  him  of  ease, 
Or  whether  a  barrel  of  Faversham  oysters, 
Brought  in  on  the  evening  before,  to  the  cloisters, 

Produced  indigestion,    Continues  a  question : 
The  particular  cause  is  not  worth  a  debate  ; 
For  my  purpose  it's  clearly  sufficient  to  state 
That  whatever  the  reason,  his  rev'rence  was  late, 

And  Sir  Alured  Denne,    Not  the  meekest  of  men, 
Began  banning  away  at  a  deuce  of  a  rate. 

Now  here,  though  I  do  it  with  infinite  pain, 
Gentle  reader,  I  find  I  must  pause  to  explain 

That  there  was — what,  I  own,  I  grieve  to  make  known 
On  the  worthy  Knight's  character  one  single  stain, 
But  for  which,  all  his  friends  had  borne  witness,  I'm  sure, 
He  had  been  sans  reproche,  as  he  still  was  sans  peur. 
The  fact  is,  that  many  distinguished  commanders 
"  Swore  terribly  (teste  T.  Shandy)  in  Flanders." 
Now  into  these  parts  our  Knight  chancing  to  go,  countries 
Named  from  this  sad,  vulgar  custom,  "  The  Low  Countries," 
Though  on  common  occasions  as  courteous  as  daring, 
Had  pick'd  up  this  shocking  bad  habit  of  swearing, 
And  if  anything  vex'd  him,  or  matters  went  wrong, 
Was  given  to  what  low  folks  call  "  Coming  it  strong." 


824  THE   INGOLnSTlY  LEGENDS 

Good,  bad,  or  indifferent  then,  young  or  old, 

He'd  consign  them,  when  once  in  a  humour  to  scold, 

To  a  place  where  they  certainly  would  not  take  cold. 

— Now  if  there  are  those,  and  I've  some  in  my  eye, 

Who'd  esteem  this  a  crime  of  no  very  deep  dye, 

Let  them  read  on — they'll  find  their  mistake  by-and-by 

Near  or  far    Few  people  there  are, 
But  have  heard,  read,  or  sung  about  Young  Lochinvnr, 
How  in  Netherby  Chapel,  "  at  morning  tide," 
The  Priest  and  the  Bridegroom  stood  waiting  the  Bride  ; 

How  they  waited,  M  but  ne'er    A  Bride  was  there." 
Still  I  don't  find,  on  reading  the  ballad  with  care, 
The  bereaved  Mr.  Graham  proceeded  to  swear, 
And  yet  to  experience  so  serious  a  blight  in 
One's  dearest  affections,  is  somewhat  exciting. 

'Tis  manifest  then    That  Sir  Alured  Deune 
Had  far  less  excuse  for  such  bad  language,  when 
It  was  only  the  Priest,  not  the  Bride,  who  was  missing- 
He  had  fill'd  up  the  interval  better  with  kissing. 

And  'twas  really  surprising,    And  not  very  wise  in 
A  Knight  to  go  on  so  anathematizing, 
When  the  head  and  the  front  of  the  Clergyman's  crime 
Was  but  being  a  little  behind  as  to  time  : — 

Be  that  as  it  may,     He  swore  so  that  day 
At  the  reverend  gentleman's  ill-judged  delay, 
That  not  a  bystander  who  heard  what  he  said, 
But  listen'd  to  all  his  expressions  with  dread, 
And  felt  all  his  hair  stand  on  end  on  his  head  ; 

Nay,  many  folks  there    Did  not  stick  to  declare 
The  phenomenon  was  not  confined  to  the  hair, 
For  the  little  stone  Saint  who  sat  perch'd  o'er  the  do.  r, 
St.  Romwold  himself,  as  I  told  you  before, 

What  will  scarce  be  believed,    Was  plainly  perceived 
To  shrug  up  his  shoulders,  as  very  much  grieved, 

And  look  down  with  a  frown    So  remarkably  brown, 
That  all  saw  he'd  now  quite  a  different  face  on 
From  that  he  received  at  the  hands  of  the  mason  ; 
Nay,  many  averr'd  he  half  rose  in  his  niche, 
When  Sir  Alured,  always  in  metaphor  rich, 
Call'd  his  priest  an  "  old  son  of "  some  animal — whi^h, 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S   WARNING. 

Is  not  worth  the  inquiry — a  hint's  quite  enough  on 
The  subject — for  more  I  refer  you  to  Buffon. 

It's  supposed  that  the  Knight 

Himself  saw  the  sight, 
And  it's  likely  he  did,  as  he  easily  might, 
For  'tis  certain  he  paused  in  his  wordy  attack, 
And,  in  nautical  language,  seern'd  "  taken  aback  ; " 

In  so  much  that  when  now 

The  "  prime  cause  of  the  row," 
Father  John,  in  the  chapel  at  last  made  his  bow, 
The  Bridegroom  elect  was  so  mild  and  subdued, 
None  could  ever  suppose  he'd  been  noisy  and  rude, 
Or  made  use  of  the  language  to  which  I  allude. 
Fair  Edith  herself,  while  the  knot  was  a  tying, 
Her  bridesmaids  around  her,  some  sobbing,  some  sighi  ug, 
Some  smiling,  some  blushing,  half -laughing,  half-crying, 
Scarce  made  her  responses  in  tones  more  complying, 
Than  he  who'd  been  raging  and  storming  so  recently, 
All  softness  now,  and  behaving  quite  decently. 
Many  folks  thought  too  the  cold  stony  frown 
Of  the  Saint  up  aloft  from  his  niche  looking  down, 
Brought  the  sexton  and  clerk  each  an  extra  half-crown. 
When,  the  rite  being  over,  the  fees  were  all  paid, 
And  the  party  remounting,  the  whole  cavalcade 
Prepared  to  ride  home  with  no  little  parade. 

In  a  climate  so  very  unsettled  as  ours 

It's  as  well  to  be  cautious  and  guard  against  showers. 

For  though,  about  One,    You've  a  fine  brilliant  sun, 
When  your  walk  or  your  ride  is  but  barely  begun, 
Yet  long  ere  the  hour-hand  approaches  the  Two 
There  is  not  in  the  whole  sky  one  atom  of  blue, 
But  it  "rains  cats  and  dogs,"  and  you're  fairly  wet  through 
Ere  you  know  where  to  turn,  what  to  say,  or  to  do  ; 
For  which  reason  I've  brought,  to  protect  myself  well,  a 
Good  stout  Taglioni  and  gingham  umbrella, 
But  in  Edward  the  First's  days  I  very  much  fear 

Had  a  gay  cavalier    Thought  fit  to  appear 
In  any  such  "  toggery  " — then  'twas  term'd  "  gear  "- 
He'd  have  met  with  a  highly  significant  sneer, 


826  THE  INGOLD8BY  LEGENDS. 

Or  a  broad  grin  extending  from  ear  unto  ear, 
On  the  features  of  every  soul  he  came  near  : 
There  was  no  taking  refuge  too  then,  as  with  us, 
On  a  slip-sloppy  day,  in  a  cab  or  a  'bus ; 

As  they  rode  through  the  woods 

In  their  wimples  and  hoods, 
Their  only  resource  against  sleet,  hail,  or  rain 
Was,  as  Spenser  describes  it,  to  "  pryck  o'er  the  plaine ; " 
That  is,  to  clap  spurs  on,  and  ride  helter-skelter 
In  search  of  some  building  or  other  for  shelter. 

Now  it  seems  that  the  sky,    Which  had  been  of  a  dye 
As  bright  and  as  blue  as  your  lady-love's  eye, 
The  season  in  fact  being  genial  and  dry, 

Began  to  assume    An  appearance  of  gloom 
From  the  moment  the  Knight  began  fidget  and  fume, 
Which  deepen'd  and  deepen'd  till  all  the  horizon 
Grew  blacker  than  aught  they  had  ever  set  eyes  on, 
And  soon  from  the  far  west  the  elements,  rumbling 
Increased  and  kept  pace  with  Sir  Alured's  grumbling. 

Bright  flashes  between,    Blue,  red,  and  green, 
All  livid  and  lurid  began  to  be  seen ; 
At  length  down  it  came — a  whole  deluge  of  rain, 
A  perfect  Niagara,  drenching  the  plain  ; 

And  up  came  the  reek,    And  down  came  the  shriek 
Of  the  winds  like  a  steam-whistle  starting  a  train  ; 
And  the  tempest  began  so  to  roar  and  to  pour, 
That  the  Dennes  and  the  Ingoldsbys,  starting  at  score, 
As  they  did  from  the  porch  of  St.  Romwold's  church  door, 
Had  scarce  gain'd  a  mile,  or  a  mere  trifle  more, 

Ere  the  whole  of  the  crew 

Were  completely  wet  through. 
They  dash'd  o'er  the  downs,   and  they  dash'd  through  the 

vales, 

They  dash'd  up  the  hills,  and  they  dash'd  down  the  dales, 
As  if  elderly  Nick  was  himself  at  their  tails  ; 

The  Bridegroom  in  vain    Attempts  to  restrain 
The  Bride's  frighten'd  palfrey  by  seizing  the  rein, 

When  a  flash  and  a  crash 

Which  produced  such  a  splash 
That  a  Yankee  had  call'd  it  "  an  Almighty  Smash," 


THE  BLASPHEMERS  WARNING.  327 

Came  down  so  complete    At  his  own  courser's  feet 
That  the  rider,  though  famous  for  keeping  his  seat, 
From  its  kickings  and  plungings,  now  under,  now  upper, 
Slipp  d  out  of  his  demi-pique  over  the  crupper, 
And  fell  from  the  back  of  his  terrified  cob 
On  what  bards  less  refined  than  myself  term  his  "  Nob." 
(To  obtain  a  genteel  rhyme's  sometimes  a  tough  job.) — 
Just  so — for  the  nonce  to  enliven  my  song 
With  a  classical  simile  cannot  be  wrong — 
Just  so — in  such  roads  and  in  similar  weather, 
Tydides  and  Nestor  were  riding  together, 
When,  so  says  old  Homer,  the  King  of  the  Sky, 
The  great  "  Cloud-compeller,"  his  lightnings  let  fly, 
And  their  horses  both  made  such  a  desperate  shy 

At  this  freak  of  old  Zeus, 

That  at  once  they  broke  loose, 
Reins,  traces,  bits,  breechings,  were  all  of  no  use ; 
If  the  Pylian  Sage,  without  any  delay, 
Had  not  whipp'd  them  sharp  round  and  away  from  the  fray, 
They'd  have  certainly  upset  his  cabriolet, 
And  there'd  been  the — a  name  I  won't  mention — to  pay. 


Well,  the  Knight  in  a  moment  recover'd  his  seat — 

Mr.  Widdicombe's  mode  of  performing  that  feat 

At  Astley's  could  not  be  more  neat  or  complete, 

— It's  recorded,  indeed,  by  an  eminent  pen 

Of  our  own  days,  that  this  our  great  Widdicombe,  then 

In  the  heyday  of  life,  had  afforded  some  ten 

Or  twelve  lessons  in  riding  to  Alured  Denne, — 

It  is  certain  the  Knight    Was  so  agile  and  light 
That  an  instant  sufficed  to  set  matters  right, 
Yet  the  Bride  was  by  this  time  almost  out  of  sight ; 
For  her  palfrey,  a  rare  bit  of  blood,  who  could  trace 
Her  descent  from  the  "  pure  old  Caucasian  race," 

Sleek,  slim,  and  bony,  as  Mr.  Sidouia's 

Fine  "  Arab  Steed  "    Of  the  very  same  breed, 
Which  that  elegant  gentleman  rode  so  genteelly 
—See  "  Coningsby,"  written  by  "  B.  Disraeli  "— 

That  palfrey,  I  say,    From  this  trifling  delay 
Had  made  what  at  sea's  call'd  "  a  great  deal  of  way." 


828  THE  INGOLDSBY  LMGAMMt 

"  More  fleet  than  the  roe-buck,"  and  free  as  the  wind, 

She  had  left  the  good  company  rather  behind  ; 

They  whipp'd  and  they  spurr'd,  and  they  after  her  press'd 

Still  Sir  Alured's  steed  was  "  by  long  chalks  "  the  best 

Of  the  party,  and  very  soon  distanced  the  rest ; 

But  long  ere  e'en  he  had  the  fugitive  near'd, 

She  dash'd  into  the  wood  and  at  once  disappear'd  ! 

It's  a  "  fashions  "  afiair  when  you're  out  on  a  ride 

— Ev*n  supposing  you're  not  in  pursuit  of  a  bride, 

If  you  are,  it's  more  fashious,  which  can't  be  denied, — 

And  you  came  to  a  place  where  three  cross-roads  divide, 

Without  any  way-post,  stuck  up  by  the  side 

Of  the  road  to  direct  you  and  act  as  a  guide, 

With  a  road  leading  here,  and  a  road  leading  there, 

And  a  road  leading  no  one  exactly  knows  where. 

When  Sir  Alured  came    In  pursuit  of  the  dame 
To  a  fork  of  this  kind, — a  three-prong'd  one — small  blame 
To  his  scholarship  if  in  selecting  his  way 
His  respect  for  the  Classics  now  led  him  astray  ; 
But  the  rule,  in  a  work  I  won't  stop  to  describe,  is 
In  media  semper  tutissimus  ibis, 

So  the  Knight,  being  forced  of  three  paths  to  enter  one, 
Dash'd,  with  these  words  on  his  lips,  down  the  centre  one. 


Up  and  down  hill,    Up  and  down  hill, 
Through  brake  and  o'er  briar  he  gallops  on  still, 
Aye  banning,  blaspheming,  and  cursing  his  fill 
At  his  courser  because  he  had  given  him  a  "  spill ; 

Yet  he  did  not  gain  ground 

On  the  palfrey,  the  sound, 
On  the  contrary,  made  by  the  hoofs  of  the  beast 
Grew  fainter  and  fainter, — aud  fainter, — and — ceased  ! 
Sir  Alured  burst  through  the  dingle  at  last, 
To  a  sort  of  a  clearing,  and  there — he  stuck  fast ; 
For  his  steed,  though  a  freer  one  ne'er  had  a  shoe  on, 
Stood  fix'd  as  the  Governor's  nag  in  "  Don  Juan," 
Or  much  like  the  statue  that  stands,  cast  in  copper,  a 
Few  yards  south-east  of  the  door  of  the  Opera, 
Save  that  Alured's  horse  had  not  got  such  a  big  tail, 
While  Alured  wanted  the  cock'd  hat  and  pig-tail. 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S   WARNING, 

Before  him  is  seen 

A  diminutive  Green 

Scoop'd  out  from  the  covert — a  thick  leafy  screen 
Of  wild  foliage,  trunks  with  broad  branches  between 
Encircle  it  wholly,  all  radiant  and  sheen, 
For  the  weather  at  once  appearM  clean  and  serene, 
And  the  sky  up  above  was  a  bright  mazarine, 
Just  as  though  no  such  thing  as  a  tempest  had  been. 
In  short,  it  was  one  of  those  sweet  little  places 
In  Egypt  and  Araby  known  as  "  oases." 

There,  under  the  shade 

That  was  made  by  the  glade, 
The  astonish'd  Sir  Alured  sat  and  survey'd 
A  little  low  building  of  Bethersden  stone, 
With  ivy  and  parasite  creepers  o'ergrown, 

A  Sacellum,  or  cell,    In  which  Chronicles  tell 
Saints  and  anchorites  erst  were  accustom'd  to  dwell ; 
A  little  round  arch,  on  which,  deeply  indented, 
The  zig-zaggy  pattern  by  Saxons  invented 
Was  cleverly  chisell'd,  and  well  represented, 

Surmounted  a  door,    Some  five  feet  by  four, 
It  might  have  been  less  or  it  might  have  been  more, 
In  the  primitive  ages  they  made  these  thing  lower 
Than  we  do  in  buildings  that  had  but  one  floor  ; 

And  these  Chronicles  say,    When  an  anchorite  grey 
Wish'd  to  shut  himself  up  and  keep  out  of  the  way, 
He  was  commonly  wont  in  such  low  cells  to  stay, 
And  pray  night  and  day  on  the  rez  de  chaussee. 
There,  under  the  arch  I've  endeavour'd  to  paint, 
With  no  little  surprise,    And  scarce  trusting  his  eyes, 
The  Knight  now  saw  standing  that  little  Boy  Saint ! 

The  one  whom  before    He'd  seen  over  the  door 
Of  the  Priory  shaking  his  head  as  he  swore — 
With  mitre,  and  crozier,  and  rochet,  and  stole  on, 
The  very  self -same — or  at  least  his  Eidolon  ! 
With  a  voice  all  unlike  to  the  infantine  squeak 
You'd  expect,  that  small  Saint  now  address'd  him  to  speuk 

In  a  bold,  manly  tone,  he    Began,  while  his  stony 
Cold  lips  breath'd  an  odour  quite  Eau  de  Cologne-y  / 
In  fact,  from  his  christening,  according  to  rumour,  he 
Beat  Mr.  Brummell  to  sticks,  in  perfumery. 

K* 


330  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

"  Sir  Alured  Denne ! "    Said  the  Saint,  "  be  atten- 
— tive !    Your  ancestors,  all  most  respectable  men, 
Have  for  some  generations  been  vot'ries  of  mine  ; 
They  have  brought  me  mould  candles  and  bow'd  at  my  shrine, 
They  have  made  my  monks  presents  of  ven'son  and  wine, 
With  a  right  of  free  pasturage,  too,  for  their  swine. 

And,  though  you  in  this    Have  been  rather  remiss, 
Still  I  owe  you  a  turn  for  the  sake  of  "  lang  syne." 
And  I  now  come  to  tell  you,  your  cursing  and  swearing 
Have  reach'd  to  a  pitch  that  is  realiy  past  bearing. 

'Twere  a  positive  scandal    In  even  a  Vandal, 
It  ne'er  should  be  done,  save  with  bell,  book,  and  candle  : 
And  though  I've  now  learn'd,  as  I've  always  suspected, 
Your  own  education's  been  somewhat  neglected ; 
Still  you're  not  such  an  uninform'd  pagan,  I  hope, 
As  not  to  know  cursing  belongs  to  the  Pope  ! 
And  his  Holiness  feels,  very  properly,  jealous 
Of  all  such  encroachments  by  paltry  lay  fellows. 

Now,  take  my  advice,    Saints  never  speak  twice, 
So  take  it  at  once,  as  I  once  for  all  give  it ; 
Go  home !  you'll  find  there  all  as  right  as  a  trivet, 
But  mind  and  remember,  if  once  you  give  way 
To  that  shocking  bad  habit,  I'm  sorry  to  say, 
I  have  heard  you  so  sadly  indulge  in  to-day, 
As  sure  as  you're  born,  on  the  very  first  trip 
That  you  make — the  first  oath  that  proceeds  from  your  lip, 

I'll  soon  make  you  rue  it !    — I've  said  it — I'll  do  it ! 
*  Forewarn'd  is  forearm'd,'  you  shan't  say  but  you  knew  it. 
Whate'er  you  hold  dearest  or  nearest  your  heart, 
I'LL  TAKE  IT  AWAY,  if  I  come  in  a  cart ! 
I  will  on  my  honour !  you  know  it's  absurd 
To  suppose  that  a  Saint  ever  forfeits  his  word 
For  a  pitiful  Knight,  or  to  please  any  such  man — 
I've  said  it !  I'll  do't— if  I  don't,  I'm  a  Dutchman  !  "— 

He  ceased — he  was  gone  as  he  closed  his  harangue, 
And  some  one  outside  shut  the  door  with  a  bang ! 
Sparkling  with  dew,    Each  green  herb  anew 
Its  profusion  of  sweets  round  Sir  Alured  threw, 
As  pensive  and  thoughf ul  he  slowly  withdrew 
(For  the  hoofs  of  his  horse  had  got  rid  of  their  glue),. 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING.  331 

And  the  cud  of  reflection  continued  to  chew 
Till  the  gables  of  Bonnington  Hall  rose  in  view. 
Little  reck'd  he  what  he  smelt,  what  he  saw. 

Brilliance  of  scenery,    Fragrance  of  greenery, 
Fail'd  in  impressing  his  mental  machinery ; 
Many  an  hour  had  elapsed,  well  I  ween,  ere  he 
Fairly  was  able  distinction  to  draw 
Twixt  the  odour  of  garlic  and  bouquet  du  Soi 


Merrily,  merrily  sounds  the  horn, 
And  cheerily  ring  the  bells ; 

For  the  race  is  run,    The  goal  is  won, 
The  little  lost  mutton  is  happily  found, 
The  Lady  of  Bonnington's  safe  and  sound 

In  the  Hall  where  her  new  Lord  dwells  1 
Hard  had  they  ridden,  that  company  gay, 
After  fair  Edith,  away  and  away  : 
This  had  slipp'd  back  o'er  his  courser's  rump, 
That  had  gone  over  his  ears  with  a  plump, 
But  the  lady  herself  had  stuck  on  like  a  trump, 
Till  her  panting  steed    Relax'd  her  speed, 
And  feeling,  no  doubt,  as  a  gentleman  feels 
When  he's  once  shown  a  bailiff  a  fair  pair  of  heela 
Stopp'd  of  herself,  as  it's  very  well  known 
Horses  will  do,  when  they're  thoroughly  blown, 
And  thus  the  old  group  had  f  oregather'd  again, 
Just  as  the  sunshine  succeeded  the  rain. 
Oh,  now  the  joy,  and  the  frolicking,  rollicking 

Doings  indulged  in  by  one  and  by  all ! 
Gaiety  seized  on  the  most  melancholic  in 

All  the  broad  lands  around  Bonnington  HalL 
All  sorts  of  revelry,    All  sorts  of  devilry, 

All  play  at  "  High  Jinks  "  and  keep  up  the  ball. 
Days,  weeks,  and  months,  it  is  really  astonishing, 

When  one's  so  happy,  how  Time  flies  away  ; 
Meanwhile  the  Bridegroom  requires  no  admonishing, 

As  to  what  pass'd  on  his  own  wedding-day ; 
Never  since  then,    Had  Sir  Alured  Denne 
Let  a  word  fall  from  his  lip  or  his  pen 
That  began  with  a  D,  or  left  off  with  an  N 1 


332  THE  1NGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Once,  and  once  only,  when  put  in  a  rage, 

By  a  careless  young  rascal  he'd  hired  as  a  Page, 

All  buttons  and  brass,    When  in  handling  a  glass 

Of  spiced  hippocras,  throws    It  all  over  his  clothes, 
And  spoils  his  best  pourpoint,  and  smartest  trunk  hose, 
While  stretching  his  hand  out  to  take  it  and  quaff  it  (he 
'd  given  a  rose  noble  a  yard  for  the  taffety), 
Then,  and  then  only,  came  into  his  head, 
A  very  sad  word  that  began  with  a  Z  ; 

But  he  check'd  his  complaint, 

He  remember'd  the  Saint, 

In  the  nick — Lady  Denne  was  beginning  to  faint — 
That  sight  on  his  mouth  acted  quite  as  a  bung, 
Like  Mahomet's  coffin,  the  shocking  word  hung 
Half-way  'twixt  the  root  and  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

Many  a  year    Of  mirth  and  good  cheer 
Flew  over  their  heads,  to  each  other  more  dear 
Every  day,  they  were  quoted  by  peasant  and  peer 
As  the  rarest  examples  of  love  ever  known 
Since  the  days  of  Le  Chivaler  IfArbie  and  Joanne, 
Who  in  Bonnington  chancel  lie  sculptured  in  stone. 

Well — it  happen'd  at  last,    After  certain  years  past, 
That  an  embassy  came  to  our  court  from  afar — 
From  the  Grand-duke  of  Muscovy — now  call'd  the  Czar, 
And  the  Spindleshank'd  Monarch,  determined  to  do 
All  the  grace  that  he  could  to  a  nobleman,  who 
Had  sail'd  all  that  way  from  a  country  which  few 
In  our  England  had  heard  of,  and  nobody  knew, 
With  a  hat  like  a  muff,  and  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 
Our  arsenals,  buildings,  and  dock-yards  to  view, 

And  to  say  how  desirous    His  Prince  Wladimirus 
Had  long  been  with  mutual  regard  to  inspire  us, 
And  how  he  regretted  he  was  not  much  nigher  us, 

With  other  fine  things,    Such  as  Kings  say  to  Kings 
When  each  tries  to  humbug  his  dear  Royal  Brother,  in 
Hopes  by  such  "  gammon  "  to  take  one  another  in — 

King  Longshanks,  I  say,    Being  now  on  his  way 
Bound  for  France,  where  the  rebels  had  kept  him  at  bay, 

Was  living  in  clover    At  this  time  at  Dover. 


THE   BLASPHEMER'S   WARNING.  333 

I  the  castle  there,  waiting  a  tide  to  go  over. 
He  had  summon'd,  I  can't  tell  you  how  many  men, 
Knights,  nobles,  and  squires  to  the  wars  of  Guienne, 
And  among  these  of  course  was  Sir  Alured  Denne, 

Who,  acting  like  most    Of  the  knights  in  the  host, 
Whose  residence  was  not  too  far  from  the  coast, 
Had  brought  his  wife  with  him,  delaying  their  parting, 
Fond  souls,  till  the  very  last  moment  of  starting. 

Of  course,  with  such  lots  of  lords,  ladies,  and  knights, 
In  their  Saracenettes,  and  their  bright  chain-mail  tights, 
All  accustom'd  to  galas,  grand  doings,  and  sights, 
A  matter  like  this  was  at  once  put  to  rights ; 
'Twould  have  been  a  strange  thing, 
If  so  polish'd  a  king, 

With  his  Board  of  Green  Cloth,  and  Lord  Steward's  depart- 
ment, 

Couldn't    teach  an    Ambassador    what    the    word    "smart" 
meant. 

A  banquet  was  order'd  at  once  for  a  score, 

Or  more,  of  the  corps  that  had  just  come  on  shore, 

And  the  King,  though  he  thought  it  "  a  bit  of  a  bore," 

Ask'd  all  the  elite    Of  his  levee  to  meet 
The  illustrious  Strangers  and  share  in  the  treat ; 
For  the  Boyar  himself,  the  Queen  graciously  made  him  her 
Beau  for  the  day,  from  respect  to  Duke  Wladimir. 
(Queer  as  this  name  may  appear  in  the  spelling, 

You  won't  find  it  trouble  you,    Sound  but  the  W 
Like  the  first  L  in  Llan,  Lloyd,  and  Llewellyn ! ) 

Fancy  the  fuss  and  the  fidgety  looks 

Of  Robert  de  Burghersh,  the  constables,  cooks  ; 

For  of  course  the  cuisine    Of  the  King  and  the  Queen 
Was  behind  them  at  London,  or  Windsor,  or  Sheene, 
Or  wherever  the  Court  ere  it  started  had  been, 

And  it's  really  no  jest,    When  a  troublesome  guest 
Looks  in  at  a  time  when  you're  busy  and  prest, 
Just  going  to  fight,  or  to  ride,  or  to  rest, 
And  expects  a  good  lunch  when  you've  none  ready  drest 

The  servants,  no  doubt,    Were  much  put  to  the  rout, 
By  this  very  extempore  sort  of  set-out. 


834  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

But  they  wisely  fell  back  upon  poor  Richard's  plan, 
"  When  you  can't  what  you  would,  you  must  do  what  you  can ! 
So  they  ransack'd  the  country,  folds,  pig-styes,  and  pens, 
For  the  sheep  and  the  porkers,  the  cocks  and  the  hens  ; 
'Twas  said  a  Tom-cat  of  Sir  Alured  Denne's, 

A  fine  tabby-grey,    Disappear'd  on  that  day, 
And  whatever  became  of  him  no  one  could  say  , 

They  brought  all  the  food    That  ever  they  cou'd, 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  with  sea-coal  and  dry  wood 
To  his  Majesty's  Dapifer,  Eudo  (or  Ude), 
They  lighted  the  town  up,  set  ringing  the  bells, 
And  borrow'd  the  waiters  from  all  the  hotels. 
A  bright  thought,  moreover,  came  into  the  head 
Of  Dapifer  Eudo,  who'd  some  little  dread, 
As  he  said,  for  the  thorough  success  of  his  spread. 
So  he  said  to  himself,  "  What  a  thing  it  would  be 

Could  I  have  here  with  me    Some  one,  two,  or  three 
Of  their  outlandish  scullions  from  over  the  sea ! 
It's  a  hundred  to  one  if  the  Suite  or  their  Chief 
Understand  our  plum-puddings,  and  barons  of  beef ; 
But  with  five  minutes'  chat  with  their  cooks  or  their  valets 
We'd  soon  dish  up  something  to  tickle  their  palates ! " 
With  this  happy  conceit  for  improving  the  mess, 
Pooh-poohing  expense,  he  despatch 'd  an  express 
In  a  waggon  and  four  on  the  instant  to  Deal, 
Who  dash'd  down  the  hill  without  locking  the  wheel, 
And,  by  means  which  I  guess  but  decline  to  reveal, 
Seduced  from  the  Downs,  where  at  anchor  their  vessel  rode, 
Lumpoff  Icywitz,  serf  to  a  former  Count  Nesselrode, 

A  cook  of  some  fame,    Who  invented  the  same 
Cold  pudding  that  still  bears  the  family  name. 
This  accomplish'd,  the  Chef's  peace  of  mind  was  restored. 
And  in  due  time  a  banquet  was  placed  on  the  board 
"  In  the  very  best  style,"  which  implies,  in  a  word, 
"  All  the  dainties  the  season  "  (and  king)  "  could  afford." 

There  were  snipes,  there  were  rails, 

There  were  woodcocks  and  quails, 
There  were  peacocks  served  up  in  their  pride  (that  is,  tails) 

Fricandeau,  fricassees,    Ducks  and  green  peas, 
Cotelettes  d,  VIndienne,  and  chops  d  la  Soubise 
(Which  last  you  may  call  "  onion-sauce  "  if  you  please), 


THE  BLASPHEMERS   WARNING.  835 

There  are  barbecu'd  pigs    StufFd  with  raisins  and  figs, 
Omelettes  and  haricots,  stews  and  ragouts, 
And  pork  griskins,  which  Jews  still  refuse  and  abuse. 
Then  the  wines,— round  the  circle  how  swiftly  they  went, 
Canary,  Sack,  Malaga,  Malvoisie,  Tent ; 
Old  Hock  from  the  Rhine,  wine  remarkably  fine, 
Of  the  Charlemagne  vintage  of  seven  ninety-nine,— 
Five  cent'ries  in  bottle  had  made  it  divine  ! 
The  rich  juice  of  Rousillon,  Gascoygne,  Bordeaux, 

Marasquin,  Curac.oa,    Kirschen  Wassar,  Noyeau, 
And  gin  which  the  company  voted  "  No  Go ; " 

The  guests  all  hob-nobbing,    And  bowing  and  bobbing, 
Some  prefer  white  wine,  while  others  more  value  red, 

Few,  a  choice  few,    Of  more  orthodox  gout, 
Stick  to  "  old  crusted  port,"  among  whom  was  Sir  Alured  ; 
Never  indeed  at  a  banquet  before 
Had  that  gallant  commander  enjoy'd  himself  more. 


Then  came  "  sweets  " — served  in  silver  were  tartlets  and  pies— 

in  glass, 

Jellies  composed  of  punch,  calves'  feet,  and  isinglass, 
Creams,  and  whipt-syllabuba,  some  hot,  some  cool, 
Blancmange,  and  quince-custards,  and  gooseberry-fool. 
And  now  from  the  good  taste  which  reigns,  it's  confest, 
In  a  gentleman's,  that  is  an  Englishman's,  breast, 
And  makes  him  polite  to  a  stranger  and  guest, 

They  soon  play'd  the  deuce 

With  a  large  Charlotte  Russe ; 

More  than  one  of  the  party  despatch'd  his  plate  twice 
With  "  I'm  really  ashamed,  but — another  small  slice ! 
Your  dishes  from  Russia  are  really  so  nice ! " 
Then  the  prime  dish  of  all !    "  There  was  nothing  so  good  in 

The  whole  of  the  Feed  "    One  and  all  were  agreed, 
"  As  the  great  Lumpoff  Icywitz'  Nesselrode  pudding ! " 
Sir  Alured  Denne,  who'd  all  day,  to  say  sooth, 
Like  lago,  been  "  plagued  with  a  sad  raging  tooth," 
Which  had  nevertheless  interfered  very  little 
With  his — what  for  my  rhyme  I'm  obliged  to  spell—  vittle, 

Requested  a  friend    Who  sat  near  him  to  send 
Him  a  spoonful  of  what  he  heard  all  so  commend, 


836  THE  1NOOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

And  begg'd  to  take  wine  with  him  afterwards,  grateful 
Because  for  a  spoonful  he'd  sent  him  a  plateful 
Having  emptied  his  glass — he  ne'er  balk'd  or  spill'd  it — 
The  gallant  Knight  open'd  his  mouth — and  then  fill'd  it. 

You  must  really  excuse  me — there's  nothing  could  bribe 
Me  at  all  to  go  on  and  attempt  to  describe 

The  fearsome  look  then    Of  Sir  Alured  Denne  I 
— Astonishment,  horror,  distraction  of  mind, 
Rage,  misery,  fear,  and  iced  pudding — combined ! 
Lip,  forehead,  and  cheek — how  these  mingle  and  meet 
All  colours,  all  hues,  now  advance,  now  retreat, 
Now  pale  as  a  turnip,  now  crimson  as  beet  I 
How  he  grasps  his  arm-chair  in  attempting  to  rise, 
See  his  veins  how  they  swell  1  mark  the  roll  of  his  eyes ! 
Now  east  and  now  west,  now  north  and  now  south, 
Till  at  once  he  contrives  to  eject  from  his  mouth 

That  vile  "  spoonful " — what    He  has  got  he  knows  not, 
He  isn't  quite  sure  if  it's  cold  or  it's  hot ; 
At  last  he  exclaims,  as  he  starts  from  his  seat, 

"  A  SNOWBALL  by ! "  what  I  decline  to  repeat, — 

'Twas  the  name  of  a  bad  place,  for  mention  unmeet 

Then  oh  what  a  volley ! — a  great  many  heard 

What  flow'd  from  his  lips,  and  'twere  really  absurd 

To  suppose  that  each  man  was  not  shock'd  by  each  word 

A  great  many  heard,  too,  with  mix'd  fear  and  wonder, 

The  terrible  crash  of  the  terrible  thunder, 

That  broke  as  if  bursting  the  building  asunder  ; 

But  very  few  heard,  although  every  one  might, 

The  short,  half-stifled  shriek  from  the  chair  on  the  rifrht, 

Where  the  lady  of  Bonnington  sat  by  her  knight ; 

And  very  few  saw — some — the  number  was  small, 

In  the  large  ogive  window  that  lighted  the  hall, 

A  small  stony  Saint  in  a  small  stony  pall, 

With  a  small  stony  mitre,  and  small  stony  crosier, 

And  small  stony  toes  that  owed  nought  to  the  hosier, 

Beckon  stonily  downward  to  gome  one  below, 

As  Merryman  says  "  for  to  come  for  to  go  !  " 

While  every  one  smelt  a  delicious  perfume 

That  seem'd  to  pervade  every  part  of  the  room  ! 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S   WARNING.  337 

Fair  Edith  Denne,     The  bonne  et  belle  then, 
Never  again  was  beheld  among  men  I 
But  there  was  the  fauteuil  on  which  she  was  placed, 
And  there  was  the  girdle  that  graced  her  small  waist, 
And  there  was  her  stomacher,  brilliant  with  gems, 
And  the  mantle  she  wore,  edged  with  lace  at  the  hems, 
Her  rich  brocade  gown  sat  upright  in  its  place, 
And  her  wimple  was  there- — but  where — WHERE  WAS  HER 

PACE? 

'Twas  gone  with  her  body — and  nobody  knows, 
Nor  could  any  one  present  so  much  as  suppose 
How  that  Lady  contrived  to  slip  out  of  her  clothes  ! 

But  'twas  done — she  was  quite  gone — the  how  and  the  where, 
No  mortal  was  ever  yet  found  to  declare  ; 
Though  inquiries  were  made,  and  some  writers  record 
That  Sir  Alured  offer'd  a  handsome  reward. 

***** 

King  Edward  went  o'er  to  his  wars  in  Guienne, 
Taking  with  him  his  barons,  his  knights,  and  his  men. 

You  may  look  through  the  whole 

Of  that  King's  muster-roll, 

And  you  won't  find  the  name  of  Sir  Alured  Denne, 
But  Chronicles  tell  that  there  formerly  stood 
A  little  old  chapel  in  Bilsington  wood  ; 

The  remains  to  this  day,  Archaeologists  say, 
May  be  seen,  and  I'd  go  there  and  look  if  I  could. 
There  long  dwelt  a  hermit  remarkably  good, 

Who  lived  all  alone,    And  never  was  known 
To  use  bed  or  bolster,  except  the  cold  stone ; 
But  would  groan  and  would  moan  in  so  piteous  a  tone, 
A  wild  Irishman's  heart  had  responded  "  Och  hone ! " 
As  the  fashion  with  hermits  of  old  was  to  keep  skins 
To  wear  with  the  wool  on — most  commonly  sheep-skins-- 
He,  too,  like  the  rest,  was  accustom'd  to  do  so  ; 
His  beard,  as  no  barber  came  near  him,  too,  grew  so, 
He  bore  some  resemblance  to  Robinson  Crusoe ; 
In  Houndsditch,  I'm  told,  you'll  sometimes  see  a  Jew  HO. 

He  lived  on  the  roots,    And  the  cob-nuts  and  fruits, 
Which  the  kind-hearted  rustics,  who  rarely  are  churls 
In  such  matters,  would  send  by  their  boys  and  their  girls  ; 


888  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

They'd  not  get  him  to  speak, 

If  they  tried  for  a  week, 

But  the  colour  would  always  mount  np  in  his  cheek, 
And  he'd  look  like  a  dragon  if  ever  he  heard 
His  young  friends  use  a  naughty  expresssion  or  word. 
How  long  he  lived  or  at  what  time  he  died, 
Twere  hard,  after  so  many  years,  to  decide, 
But  there's  one  point,  on  which  all  traditions  agree, 
That  he  did  die  at  last,  leaving  no  legatee, 
And  his  linen  was  mark'd  with  an  A  and  a  D. 

Alas,  for  the  glories  of  Bonnington  Hall  1 
Alas,  for  its  splendour  !  alas,  for  its  fall ! 

Long  years  have  gone  by    Since  the  traveler  might  spy 
Any  decentish  house  in  the  parish  at  alL 
For  very  soon  after  the  awful  event 
I've  related,  'twas  said  through  all  that  part  of  Kent 
That  the  maids  of  a  morning,  when  putting  the  chairs 
And  the  tables  to  rights,  would  oft  pop  unawares, 
In  one  of  the  parlours,  or  galleries,  or  stairs, 
On  a  tall,  female  figure,  or  find  her,  far  horrider, 
Slowly  o'  nights  promenading  the  corridor  ; 
But  whatever  the  hour,  or  wherever  the  place, 
No  one  could  ever  get  sight  of  her  face  t 

Nor  could  they  perceive  any  arm  in  her  sleeve, 
While  her  legs  and  her  feet,  too,  seem'd  mere  "  make  believe," 
For  she  glided  along  with  that  shadow-like  motion 

Which  gives  one  the  notion 
Of  clouds  on  a  zephyr,  or  ships  on  the  ocean  ; 
And  though  of  her  gown  they  could  hear  the  silk  rustle, 
They  saw  but  that  side  on't  ornee  with  the  bustle. 
The  servants,  of  course,  though  the  house  they  were  born  in, 
Soon  "  wanted  to  better  themselves,"  and  gave  warning. 
While  even  the  new  Knight  grew  tired  of  a  guest 
Who  would  not  let  himself  or  his  family  rest ; 

So  he  pack'd  up  his  all,    And  made  a  bare  wall 
Of  each  well-furnish'd  room  in  his  ancestors'  Hall, 
Then  left  the  old  Mansion  to  stand  or  to  fall, 
Having  previously  barr'd  up  the  windows  and  gates, 
To  avoid  paying  cesses  and  taxes  and  rates, 
And  settled  on  one  of  his  other  estates. 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

Where  he  built  a  new  mansion,  and  called  it  Denne  Hill, 
And  there  his  descendants  reside,  I  think,  still 

Poor  Bonnington,  empty,  or  left,  at  the  most, 
To  the  joint  occupation  of  rooks  and  a  Ghost, 

Soon  went  to  decay,    And  moulder'd  away, 
But  whether  it  dropp'd  down  at  last  I  can't  say, 
Or  whether  the  jackdaws  produced,  by  degrees,  a 
Spontaneous  combustion  like  that  one  at  Pisa 

Some  cent'ries  ago,    I'm  sure  I  don't  know, 
But  you  can't  find  a  vestige  now  ever  so  tiny, 
"Perierunt"  as  some  one  says,  "  etiam  ruince." 

MORAL. 

The  first  maxim  a  couple  of  lines  may  be  said  in, 
If  you  are  in  a  passion,  don't  swear  at  a  wedding  1 

Whenever  you  chance  to  be  ask'd  out  to  dine, 

Be  exceedingly  cautious — don't  take  too  much  wine ! 

In  your  eating  remember  one  principal  point, 

Whatever  you  do,  have  your  eye  on  the  joint ; 

Keep  clear  of  side  dishes,  don't  meddle  with  those 

Which  the  servants  in  livery,  or  those  in  plain  clothes, 

Poke  over  your  shoulders  and  under  your  nose ; 

Or,  if  you  must  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land, 

And  feed  on  fine  dishes  you  don't  understand, 

Buy  a  good  book  of  cookery !    I've  a  compact  one, 

First-rate  of  the  kind,  just  brought  out  by  Miss  Acton, 

This  will  teach  you  their  names,  the  ingredients  they're 

made  of, 

And  which  to  indulge  in,  and  which  be  afraid  of, 
Or  else,  ten  to  one,  between  ice  and  cayenne, 
You'll  commit  yourself  some  day,  like  Alured  Denne. 

"  To  persons  about  to  be  married  "  I'd  say, 
Don't  exhibit  ill-humour,  at  least  on  The  Day ! 
And  should  there  perchance  be  a  trifling  delay 
On  the  part  of  officials,  extend  them  your  pardon, 
And  don't  snub  the  parson,  the  clerk,  or  churchwarden  ! 
To  married  men  this — For  the  rest  of  your  lives, 
Think  how  your  misconduct  may  act  on  your  wives  1 
Don't  swear  then  before  them,  lest  haply  they  faint, 
Or — what  sometimes  occurs — run  away  with  a  Saint  1 


S40  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


Cfce  iSrotfws  of  Si 

A      LAY     OF     ST.     THOMAS     A     BECKET. 

You  are  all  aware  that 

On  our  throne  there  once  sat 
A.  very  great  king  who'd  an  Angevin  hat, 
With  a  great  sprig  of  broom,  which  he  wore  as  a  badge  in  it, 
Named  from  this  circumstance,  Henry  Plantagenet. 

Pray  don't  suppose    That  I'm  going  to  prose 
O'er  Queen  Eleanor's  wrongs,  or  Miss  Rosamond's  woes, 
With  the  dagger  and  bowl,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
Not  much  to  the  credit  of  Miss,  Queen,  or  King. 

The  tale  may  be  true,    But  between  me  and  you, 
With  the  King's  escapade  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
But  shall  merely  select,  as  a  theme  for  my  rhymes, 
A  fact  which  occurr'd  to  some  folks  in  his  times. 

If  for  health,  or  a  "  lark,"    You  should  ever  embark 
In  that  best  of  improvements  on  boats  since  the  Ark, 
The  steam-  vessel  call'd  the  "Red  Rover,"  the  barge 
Of  an  excellent  officer,  named  Captain  Large, 

You  may  see,  some  half  way 

'Twixt  the  pier  at  Herne  Bay 
And  Margate,  the  place  where  you're  going  to  stay, 
A  village  call'd  Birchington,  famed  for  its  "  Rolls," 
As  the  fishing-bank,  just  in  its  front,  is  for  Soles. 

Well,  —  there  stood  a  fane    In  this  Harry  Broom's  reign, 
On  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  overhanging  the  main, 
Renown'd  for  its  sanctity  all  through  the  nation, 
And  orthodox  friars  of  the  Austin  persuasion. 

Among  them  there  was  one,    Whom  if  once  I  begun 
To  describe  as  I  ought  I  should  never  have  done, 
Father  Richard  of  Birchington,  so  was  the  Friar 
Yclept,  whom  the  rest  had  elected  their  Prior. 


THE  BROTHERS  OF  BJRCHINGTON.  -A 

He  was  tall  and  upright,    About  six  feet  in  height, 
His  complexion  was  what  you'd  denominate  light, 
And  the  tonsure  had  left,  'mid  his  ringlets  of  brown, 
A  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  crown. 

His  bright  sparkling  eye    Was  of  hazel,  and  nigh 
Rose  r  finely-arch'd  eye-brow  of  similar  dye ; 
He'd  a  small,  well-form'd  mouth  with  the  Cupidon  lip, 
And  an  aquiline  nose,  somewhat  red  at  the  tip. 

In-doors  and  out    He  was  very  devout, 
With  his  Aves  and  Patera — and  oh,  such  a  knout ! ! 
For  his  self-flagellations !  the  Monks  used  to  say 
He  would  wear  out  two  penn'orth  of  whipcord  a  day ! 

Then  how  his  piety    Shows  in  his  diet,  he 
Dines  upon  pulse,  or,  by  way  of  variety, 
Sand-eels  or  dabs !  or  his  appetite  mocks 
With  those  small  periwinkles,  that  crawl  on  the  rocks. 

In  brief,  I  don't  stick    To  declare  Father  Dick — 
So  they  call'd  him,  "  for  short," — was  a  "  Kegular  Brick," 
A  metaphor  taken — I  have  not  the  page  aright — 
Out  of  an  ethical  work  by  the  Stagyrite. 

Now  Nature,  'tis  said,    Is  a  comical  jade, 
And  among  the  fantastical  tricks  she  has  play'd, 
Was  the  making  our  good  Father  Eichard  a  Brother, 
As  like  him  in  form  as  one  pea's  like  another ; 

He  was  taR  and  upright,    About  six  feet  in  height, 
His  complexion  was  what  you'd  denominate  light, 
And,  though  he  had  not  shorn  his  ringlets  of  brown, 
He'd  a  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  crown. 

He'd  a  bright  sparkling  eye    Of  the  hazel,  hard  by 
Rose  a  finely-arch'd  sourcil  of  similar  dye  ; 
He'd  a  small,  well-shaped  mouth,  with  a  Cupidon  lip, 
With  a  good  Roman  nose,  rather  red  at  the  tip. 

But  here,  it's  pretended,    The  parallel  ended  I 
In  fact,  there's  no  doubt  his  life  might  have  been  mended, 
And  people  who  spoke  of  the  Prior  with  delight, 
Shook  their  heads  if  you  mention'd  his  brother  the  Knight 


842  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

If  you'd  credit  report,    There  was  nothing  but  sport, 
And  High  Jinks  going  on  night  and  day  at  "  the  court," 
Where  Sir  Robert,  instead  of  devotion  and  charity, 
Spent  all  his  time  in  unseemly  hilarity. 

He  drinks  and  he  eats    Of  choice  liquors  and  meats, 
And  he  goes  out  on  We'n'sdays  and  Fridays  to  treats, 
Gets  tipsy  whenever  he  dines  or  he  sups, 
And  is  wont  to  come  quarrelsome  home  in  his  cups. 

No  Paters,  no  Aves;    An  absolute  slave  he's 
To  tarts,  pickled  salmon,  and  sauces,  and  gravies ; 
While  as  to  his  beads — what  a  shame  in  a  Knight ! — 
He  really  don't  know  the  wrong  end  from  the  right! 

So,  though  'twas  own'd  then,    By  nine  people  in  ten, 
That  "  Robert  and  Richard  were  two  pretty  men," 
Yet  there  the  praise  ceased,  or  at  least  the  good  Priest, 
Was  consider^  the  "  Beauty,"  Sir  Robert  the  "  Beast." 

Indeed,  I'm  afraid    More  might  have  been  laid 
To  the  charge  of  the  Knight  than  was  openly  said, 
For  then  we'd  no  "  Phiz's,"  no  "  H.  B.'s,"  nor  "  Leeches," 
To  call  Roberts  "  Bobs,"  and  illustrate  their  speechea 

'Twas  whisper'd  he'd  rob,    Nay  murder  !  a  job, 
Which  would  stamp  him  no  "  brick  "  but  a  "  regular  snob," 
(An  obsolete  term,  which,  at  this  time  of  day, 
We  should  probably  render  by  mauvais  sujet). 

Now  if  here  such  affairs    Get  wind  unawares, 
They  are  bruited  about,  doubtless,  much  more  "down-stairs," 
Where  Old  Nick  has  a  register-office,  they  say, 
With  commissioners  quite  of  such  matters  aufait. 

Of  course,  when  he  heard    What  his  people  averr'd 
Of  Sir  Robert's  proceedings  in  deed  and  in  word, 
He  ask'd  for  the  ledger,  and  hasten'd  to  look 
At  the  leaves  on  the  creditor  side  of  this  book. 

'Twas  with  more  than  surprise 

That  he  now  ran  his  eyes 

O'er  the  numberless  items,  oaths,  curses,  and  lies, 
El  ccetera,  set  down  in  Sir  Robert's  account, 
He  was  quite  "  flabbergasted  "  to  see  the  amount 


THE  BROTHERS  OF  BIRCHINGTON.  343 

"  Dear  me !  this  is  wrong !    It's  a  great  deal  too  strong, 
I'd  no  notion  this  bill  had  been  standing  so  long — 
Send  Levybub  here ! "  and  he  fill'd  up  a  writ 
Of  "  Ca  sa,"  duly  prefaced  with  "  Limbo  to  wit" 

"  Here,  Levybub,  quick  I "    To  his  bailiff,  said  Nick, 
"  I'm  '  ryled,'  and  '  nay  dander's  up,'  Go  a-ahead  slick 
Up  to  Kent — not  Kentuck — and  at  once  fetch  away 
A  snob  there — I  guess  that's  a  Mauvais  Sujet. 

"  One  de  Birchington,  knight —    'Tis  not  clear  quite 
What  his  t'other  name  is — they've  not  enter'd  it  right, 
Ralph,  Robert,  or  Richard  ?  they've  not  gone  so  far, 
Our  critturs  have  put  it  down  merely  as  *R.' 

"  But  he's  tall  and  upright,    About  six  feet  in  height, 
His  complexion,  I  reckon,  you'd  calculate  light, 
And  he's  further  '  set  down '  having  ringlets  of  brown, 
With  a  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  crown. 

"  Then  his  eye  and  his  lip,    Hook-nose,  red  at  tip, 
Are  marks  your  attention  can't  easily  slip ; 
Take  Slomanoch  with  you,  he's  got  a  good  knack 
Of  soon  grabbing  his  man,  and  be  back  in  a  crack!  " 

That  same  afternoon    Father  Dick,  who,  as  soon 
Would  "  knock  in,"  or  "  cut  chapel "  as  jump  o'er  the  moon, 
Was  missing  at  vespers — at  compline — all, night ! 
And  his  monks  were,  of  course,  in  a  deuce  of  a  fright. 

Morning  dawn'd — 'twas  broad  day, 

Still  no  Prior !  the  tray 

With  his  muffins  and  eggs  went  untasted  away ; — 
He  came  not  to  luncheon — all  said,  "  it  was  rum  of  him," 
— None  could  conceive  what  on  earth  had  become  of  him. 

They  examined  his  cell,    They  peep'd  down  the  well; 
They  went  up  the  toVr,  and  look'd  into  the  bell ; 
They  dragg"d  the  great  fish-pond,  the  little  one  tried, 
But  found  nothing  at  all,  save  some  carp — which  they  fried, 

"  Dear  me !    Dear  me  I    Why,  where  can  he  be  ? 
He's  fallen  over  the  cliff  ? — tumbled  into  the  sea  ? " 
"  Stay — he  talk'd,"  exclaim'd  one,  "  if  I  recollect  right, 
Of  making  a  call  on  his  brother,  the  Knight  I " 


344  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

He  turns  as  he  speaks,    The  "  Court  Lodge  "  he  seeks, 
Which  was  known  then,  as  now,  by  the  queer  name  of 

Quekes, 

But  scarce  half  a  mile  on  his  way  had  he  sped, 
When  he  spied  the  good  Prior  in  the  paddock — stone  dead. 

Alas  !  'twas  too  true !    And  I  need  not  tell  you 
In  the  convent  his  news  made  a  pretty  to  do ; 
Through  all  its  wide  precincts  so  roomy  and  spacious, 
Nothing  was  heard  but  " Bless  me ! "  and  "Good  gracious ! ! " 

They  sent  for  the  Maj^r    And  the  Doctor,  a  pair 
Of  grave  men,  who  began  to  discuss  the  affair, 
When  in  bounced  the  Coroner,  foaming  with  fury, 
"  Because,"  as  he  said,  "  'twas  pooh  1  pooh !  ing  his  jury." 

Then  commenced  a  dispute,    And  so  hot  they  went  to't. 
That  things  seem'd  to  threaten  a  serious  emeute, 
When,  just  in  the  midst  of  the  uproar  and  racket, 
Who  should  walk  in  but  St  Thomas  a  Becket. 

Quoth  his  saintship,  "  How  now  ?    Here's  a  fine  coil,  I 

trow! 

I  should  like  to  know,  gentlemen,  what's  all  this  row  P 
Mr.  Wickliffe — or  Wackliffe — whatever  your  name  is — 
And  you,  Mr.  May"r  don't  you  know,  sirs,  what  shame  is  1 

"  Pray  what's  all  this  clatter  About  1 — what's  the  matter  ? 
Here  a  monk,  whose  teeth  funk  and  concern  made  to  chatter, 
Sobs  out,  as  he  points  to  the  corpse  on  the  floor, 
"  'Tis  all  dickey  with  poor  Father  Dick — he's  no  more  ! " 

"  How !— what  ?  "  says  the  Saint, 

"  Yes  he  is — no  he  ain't ! 

He  can't  be  deceased — pooh !  it's  merely  a  feint, 
Or  some  foolish  mistake  which  may  serve  for  our  laughter, 
'He  should  have  died,'  like  the  old  Scotch  Queen,  'hereafter.' 

"  His  time  is  not  out,    Some  blunder,  no  doubt, 
It  shall  go  hard  but  what  Til  know  what  it's  about- 
I  shan't  be  surprised  if  that  scurvy  old  Nick's 
Mad  a  hand  in't ;  it  savours  of  oue  of  his  tricks." 


THE    BROTHERS  OF  BIRCHINGTON.  845 

When  a  crafty  old  hound    Claps  his  nose  to  the  ground, 
Then  throws  it  up  boldly  and  bays  out,  "  I've  found  I " 
And  the  pack  catch  the  note,  I'd  as  soon  think  to  check  it, 
As  dream  of  bamboozling  St.  Thomas  a  Becket. 

Once  on  the  scent    To  business  he  went, 
"  You  Scoundrel,  come  here,  sir  "  ('twas  Nick  that  he  meant), 
"  Bring  your  books  here  this  instant — bestir  yourself — do, 
I've  no  time  to  waste  on  such  fellows  as  you." 

Every  corner  and  nook    In  all  Erebus  shook, 
As  he  struck  on  the  pavement  his  pastoral  crook, 
All  its  tenements  trembled  from  basement  to  roofs, 
And  their  nigger  inhabitants  shook  in  their  hoofs. 

Hanging  his  ears,    Yet  dissembling  his  fears, 
Ledger  in  hand,  straight  "  Auld  Hornie  "  appears, 
With  that  sort  of  half -sneaking,  half -impudent  look, 
Bankrupts  sport  when  cross-question'd  by  Cresswell  or  Cooke. 

"  So,  Sir-r-r !  you  are  here,"    Said  the  Saint  with  a  sneer, 
"  My  summons,  I  trust,  did  not  much  interfere 
With  your  morning  engagements — I  merely  desire, 
At  your  leisure  to  know  what  you've  done  with  my  Prior  1 

"  Now,  none  of  your  lies,    Mr.  Nick !  I'd  advise 
You  to  tell  me  the  truth  without  any  disguise, 
Or-r-r!l"    The  Saint,  while  his  rosy  gills  seem'd  to  grow 

rosier, 
Here  gave  another  great  thump  with  his  crosier. 

Like  a  small  boy  at  Eton,    Who's  not  quite  a  Ciichton, 
And  don't  know  his  task  but  expects  to  be  beaten, 
Nick  stammer'd,  scarce  knowing  what  answer  to  make. 
"  Sir,  I'm  sadly  afraid  here  has  been  a  mistake. 

"  These  things  will  occur,    We  are  all  apt  to  err, 
The  most  cautious  sometimes,  as  you  know,  holy  sir  ; 
For  my  own  part — I'm  sure  I  do  all  that  I  can — 
But — the  fact  is — I  fear — we  have  got  the  wrong  man.' 

"  Wrong  man  1 "  roar'd  the  Saint — 
But  the  scene  I  can't  paint, 
The  best  colours  I  have  are  a  vast  deal  too  faint — 


B46  TEE  IN&OLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Nick  afterwards  own'd  that  he  ne'er  knew  what   fright 

meant, 
Before  he  saw  Saint  under  so  much  excitement 

M  Wrong  man !  don't  tell  me—    Pooh  ! — fiddle-de-dee ! 
What's  yeur  right,  Scamp,  to  any  man ! — come,  let  me  see ; 
111  teach  you,  you  thorough-paced  rascal,  to  meddle 
With  church  matters,  come,  sirrah,  out  with  your  schedule ! " 

In  support  of  his  claim    The  fiend  turns  to  the  name 
Of  "  De  Birchington  "  written  in  letters  of  flame, 
Below  which  long  items  stand,  column  on  column, 
Enough  to  have  eked  out  a  decent-sized  volume  ! 

Sins'of  all  sorts  and  shapes, 

From  small  practical  japes 

Up  to  dicings  and  drinkings,  and  murders  and  rapes, 
And  then  of  such  standing ! — a  merciless  tick 
From  an  Oxford  tobacconist, — let  alone  Nick. 

The  Saint  in  surprise    Scarce  believed  his  own  eyes, 
Still  he  knew  he'd  to  deal  with  the  father  of  lies, 
And  "  So  this  I — you  call  this ! "  he  exclaim'd  in  a  searching 

tone, 
"  This  1 1 J  the  account  of  my  friend  Dick  de  Birchington  ! " 

"  Why,"  said  Nick,  with  an  air 

Of  great  candour,  "  it's  there 
Lies  the  awkwardest  part  of  this  awkward  affair — 
I  thought  all  was  right — see  the  height  tallies  quite, 
The  complexion's  what  all  must  consider  as  light ; 
There's  the  nose,  and  the  lip,  and  the  ringlets  of  brown, 
And  the  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  the  crown. 

"  And  then  the  surname,    So  exactly  the  same — 
I  don't  know — I  can't  tell  how  the  accident  came, 
But  some  how — I  own  it's  a  very  sad  job, 
But — my  bailiff  grabb'd  Dick  when  he  should  have  nabb'd 
Bob. 

"  I  am  vex'd  beyond  bounds 
You  should  have  such  good  grounds 
For  complaint :  I  would  rather  have  giveu  five  pounds, 


THE  BROTHERS  OF  BIRCHINOTON.  347 

And  any  apology,  sir,  you  may  choose, 

I'll  make  with  much  pleasure,  and  put  in  the  *  News.' " 

"  An  apology ! — pooh ;    Much  good  that  will  do ! 
An  '  apology '  quotha ! — and  that  too  from  you  I — 
Before  any  proposal  is  made  of  the  sort, 
Bring  back  your  stol'n   goods,   thief ; — produce  them    in 
Court." 

In  a  moment  so  small    It  seem'd  no  time  at  all, 
Father  Richard  sat  up  on  his  what-do-ye-call — 
Sur  son  seant — and,  what  was  as  wondrous  as  pleasing, 
At  once  began  coughing,  and  snifting,  and  sneezing. 

While,  strange  to  relate,    The  Knight,  whom  the  fate 
Of  his  brother  had  reach'd,  and  who  knock'd  at  the  gate, 
To  make  further  inquiries,  had  scarce  made  his  bow 
To  the  Saint  ere  he  vanish'd,  and  no  one  knew  how  1 

Erupit — evasit,    As  Tully  would  phrase  it, 
And  none  could  have  known  where  to  find  his  Hicjacet — 
That  sentence  which  man  his  mortality  teaches — 
Sir  Robert  had  disappear*d,  body  and  breeches ! 

"  Heyday  I  Sir,  heyday !    What's  the  matter  now — eh  1 " 
Quoth  A  Becket,  observing  the  gen'ral  dismay, 
"  How,  again ! — 'pon  my  word  this  is  really  too  bad  I 
It  would  drive  any  Saint  in  the  calendar  mad. 

"What,  still  at  your  tricking? 
You  will  have  a  kicking  ? 

I  see  you  won't  rest  till  you've  got  a  good  licking — 
Your  claim,  friend  1 — what  claim  ? — why,  you  show'd   me 

before 

That  your  old  claim  was  cancell'd — you've  cross'd  out  the 
score ! 

"  Is  it  that  way  you'd  Jew  one  ? 

You've  settled  the  true  one  1 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  he  has  run  up  a  new  one  1 

Of  the  thousands  you've  cheated    And  scurvily  treated, 
Name  one  you've  dared  charge  with  a  bill  once  receipted  I 


MS  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

In  the  Bankruptcy  Court  should  you  dare  to  presume 

To  attempt  it,  they'd  soon  kick  you  out  of  the  room, 

— Ask  Commissioner  Fonblanque,  or  ask  my  Lord  Brougham. 

"  And  then  to  make  under    So  barefaced  a  blunder 
Your  caption  ! — why,  what's  the  world  come  to,  I  wonder 
My  patience  1  it's  just  like  his  impudence,  rat  him ! 
— Stand  out  of  the  way  there,  and  let  me  get  at  him ! " 

The  Saint  raised  his  arm,    But  Old  Nick,  in  alarm, 
Dash'd  up  through  the  skylight,  not  doing  much  harm, 
While,  quitte  pour  la  pew,  the  Knight,  sound  on  the  whole, 
Down  the  chimney  came  tumbling  as  black  as  a  coal ! 

Spare  we  to  tell    Of  what  after  befell ! 
How  the  Saint  lectured  Robert  de  Birchington  well, 
Bade  him  alter  his  life,  and  held  out  as  a  warning 
The  narrow  escape  he  had  made  on't  that  morning. 

Nor  need  we  declare    How,  then  and  there, 
The  jury  and  Coroner  blew  up  the  May'r 
For  his  breach  of  decorum  as  one  of  the  quorum, 
In  not  having  Levybub  brought  up  before  'em. 

Nor  will  you  require    Me  to  state  how  the  Prior 
Could  never  thenceforth  bear  the  sight  of  a  fire, 
Nor  ever  was  heard  to  express  a  desire 
In  cold  weather  to  see  the  thermometer  higher. 

Nor  shall  I  relate    The  subsequent  fate 
Of  St.  Thomas  a  Becket,  whose  reverend  pate 
Fitzurse  and  De  Morville,  and  Brito  and  Tracy 
Shaved  off,  as  his  crown  had  been  merely  a  jasey. 

Suffice  it  to  say,    From  that  notable  day 
The  "  Twin  Birchington  Brothers  "  together  grew  gi  oy  : 
In  the  same  holy  convent  continued  to  dwell, 
Same  food  and  same  fastings,  same  habit,  same  cell 

No  more  the  Knight  rattles    In  broils  and  in  battles, 
But  sells,  by  De  Robins,  his  goods  and  his  chattels, 
And  counting  all  wealth  a  mere  Will-o'-the-wisp, 
Disposes  of  Quekes  to  Sir  Nicholas  Crispe. 


THE  BROTHERS  OF  BTRCHINOTON  349 

One  spot  alone    Of  all  he  had  known 
Of  his  spacious  domain  he  retain'd  as  his  own, 
In  a  neighbouring  parish,  whose  name  I  may  say 
Scarce  any  two  people  pronounce  the  same  way. 


r  some  style  it,    While  others  revile  it 
As  bad,  and  say  J?e-culver  —  'tisn't  worth  while,  it 
Would  seem,  to  dispute,  when  we  know  the  result  immat- 
erial —  I  accent,  myself,  the  penultimate. 

Sages  with  brains    Full  of  "  Saxon  remains," 
May  call  me  a  booby,  perhaps,  for  my  pains, 
Still  T  hold,  at  the  hazard  of  being  thought  dull  by  'em, 
Fast  by  the  quantity  mark'd  for  Regulbium. 

Call  't  as  you  will    The  traveller  still, 
In  the  voyage  that  we  talk'd  about,  marks  on  the  hill 
Overhanging  the  sea,  the  "  twin  towers  "  raised  then 
By  "  Robert  and  Richard,  those  two  pretty  men." 

Both  tall  and  upright,    And  just  equal  in  height  ; 
The  Trinity  House  talked  of  painting  them  white, 
And  the  thing  was  much  spoken  of  some  time  ago, 
When  the  Duke,  I  believe  —  but  I  really  don't  know. 

Well—  there  the  "Twins  "  stand 

On  the  verge  of  the  land, 
To  warn  mariners  off  from  the  Columbine  sand, 
And  many  a  poor  man  have  Robert  and  Dick, 
By  their  vow  caused  to  'scape,  like  themselves,  from  Old 
Nick, 

So,  whether  you're  sailors    Or  Tooley-street  tailors, 
Broke  loose  from  your  masters,  those  sternest  of  jailers, 
And,  bent  upon  pleasure,  are  taking  your  trip, 
In  a  craft  which  you  fondly  conceive  is  a  ship, 

When  you've  passtt  by  the  Nore, 

And  you  hear  the  winds  roar 
In  a  manner  you  scarce  could  have  fancied  before, 

When  the  cordage  and  tackling 

Are  flapping  and  crackling, 

And  the  boy  with  the  bell    Thinks  it  useless  to  teil 
You  that  "dinner's  on  table,"  because  you're  unwell  ; 


850 


When  above  you  all's  "  scud,"    And  below  you  the  flood 
Looks  a  horrible  mixture  of  soap-suds  and  mud, 

When  the  timbers  are  straining, 

And  folks  are  complaining, 
The  dead-lights  are  letting  the  spray  and  the  rain  in, 

When  the  helm's-man  looks  blue, 

And  Captain  Large  too, 
And  you  really  don't  know  what  on  earth  you  shall  do ; 

In  this  hubbub  and  row    Think  where  you'd  be  now, 
Except  for  the  Birchington  boys  and  their  vow ! 
And  while  o'er  the  wide  wave  you  feel  the  craft  pitch  hard, 
13r,itc  for  nc  sotolrs  of  Bofccrtte  an&  llrdj.irt  ! 

MORAL. 

It's  a  subject  of  serious  complaint  in  some  houses, 
With  young  married  men  who  have  elderly  spouses, 
That  persons  are  seen  in  their  figures  and  faces 
With  very  queer  people  in  very  queer  places, 
So  like  them  that  one  for  the  other's  oft  taken, 
And  conjugal  confidence  thereby  much  shaken  : 
Explanations  too  often  are  thought  mere  pretences, 
And  Richard  gets  scolded  for  Robert's  offences. 

In  a  matter  so  nice,    If  I'm  ask'd  my  advice, 
I  say  copy  King  Henry  to  obviate  that, 
And  stick  something  remarkable  up  in  your  hat ! 

Next,  observe,  in  this  world  where  we've  so  many  cheats, 
How  useful  it  is  to  preserve  your  receipts  1 
If  you  deal  with  a  person  whose  truth  you  don't  doubt, 
Be  particular,  still,  that  your  bill  is  cross'd  out : 
But,  with  any  inducement  to  think  him  a  scamp, 
Have  a  formal  receipt  on  a  regular  stamp ! 

Let  every  gay  gallant  my  story  who  notes 

Take  warning,  and  not  go  on  "  sowing  wild  oats ! " 

Nor  depend  that  some  friend    Will  always  attend, 
And  by  "  making  all  right "  bring  him  off  in  the  end, 
He  may  be  mistaken,  so  let  him  beware, 
St.  Thomas  k  Beckets  are  now  rather  rare. 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY.  851 

Last  of  all,  may'rs  and  magistrates,  never  be  rude 
To  juries !  they're  people  who  won't  be  pooh-pooh'd ! 
Especially  Sandwich  ones — no  one  can  say 
But  himself  may  come  under  their  clutches  one  day ; 

They  then  may  pay  off    In  kind  any  scoff, 
And  turning  their  late  verdict  quite  "  wisey  werseyf 
u Acquit  you,"  and  not  "  recommend  you  to  mercy." 


imt's&t  antr  t&e 

A  DOMESTIC  LEGEND  OP  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNK. 

"  Hail,  wedded  love  I  mysterious  tie  !  " 

Thornton— or  Somebody. 

THE  LADY  JANE  was  tall  and  slim, 

The  lady  Jane  was  fair, 
And  Sir  Thomas,  her  Lord,  was  stout  of  limb, 
But  his  cough  was  short,  and  his  eyes  were  dim, 
And  he  wore  green  "  specs,"  with  a  tortoiseshell  rim, 
And  his  hat  was  remarkably  broad  in  the  brim, 
And  she  was  uncommonly  fond  of  him, — 

And  they  were  a  loving  pair ! — 

And  the  name  and  the  fame 

Of  the  Knight  and  his  Dame 
Were  ev'rywhere  hail'd  with  the  loudest  acclaim ; 
And  wherever  they  went,  or  wherever  they  came, 

Far  and  wide,    The  people  cried 
**  Huzzah !  for  the  Lord  of  this  noble  domain, — 
Huzzah  I  huzzah  !  huzzah  1 — once  again  ! — 

Encore  1 — Encore ! —    One  cheer  more  1 
— All  sorts  of  pleasure,  and  no  sort  of  pain 
To  Sir  Thomas  the  Good,  and  the  Fair  Lady  Jane!  !* 

Now  Sir  Thomas  the  Good,    Be  it  well  understood, 

Was  a  man  of  a  very  contemplative  mood, — 


352  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

He  would  pore  by  the  hour    O'er  a  weed  or  a  flower, 
Or  the  slugs  that  come  crawling  out  after  a  shower ; 
Black-beetles,  and  Bumble-bees, — Blue-bottle  flies, 
And  Moths  were  of  no  small  account  in  his  eyes  ; 
An  "  Industrious  Flea  "  he'd  by  no  means  despise, 
While  an  "Old  Daddy-long-legs,"  whose  "long    legs"  and 

thighs 

Pass'd  the  common  in  shape,  or  in  colour,  or  size, 
He  was  wont  to  consider  an  absolute  prize, 
Nay,  a  hornet  or  wasp  he  could  scarce  "  keep  his  paws  off  " — he 

Gave  up,  in  short,    Both  business  and  sport, 
And  abandon'd  himself  tout  entier,  to  Philosophy. 


Now,  as  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim, — 

And  Lady  Jane  was  fair, 
And  a  good  many  years  the  junior  of  him, — 

And  as  he,    All  agree, 
Look'd  less  like  her  Mari, 
As  he  walk'd  by  her  side,  than  her  Perc, 
There  are  some  might  be  found  entertaining  a  notion 
That  such  an  entire  and  exclusive  devotion 
To  that  part  of  science  folks  style  Entomology, 

Was  a  positive  shame,    And,  to  such  a  fair  Dame, 
Really  demanded  some  sort  of  apology  : 

— No  doubt  it  would  vex    One  half  of  the  sex 
To  see  their  own  husband  in  horrid  green  "  specs, 
Instead  of  enjoying  a  sociable  chat, 
Still  poking  his  nose  into  this  and  to  that, 
At  a  gnat,  or  a  bat,  or  a  cat,  or  a  rat, 

Or  great  ugly  things,    All  legs  and  wings, 
With  nasty  long  tails  arm'd  with  nasty  long  stings ; 
And  they'd  join  such  a  log  of  a  spouse  to  condemn, 

— One  eternally  thinking, 

And  blinking,  and  winking 
At  grubs, — when  he  ought  to  be  winking  at  them." — 

But  no  ! — oh  no  !    'Twas  by  no  means  so 
With  the  Lady  Jane  Ingoldsby — she,  far  discreeter, 
And,  having  a  temper  more  even  and  sweeter, 

Would  never  object  to    Her  spouse,  in  respect  to 

His  poking  and  peeping    After  "  things  creeping ; ' 


THE  KNIGHT  AND   THE  LADY.  358 

Much  less  be  still  keeping  lamenting,  and  weeping, 
Or  scolding  at  what  she  perceived  him  so  deep  in. 

Tout  au  contraire,    No  lady  so  fair 
Was  e'er  known  to  wear  more  contented  an  air ; 
And,  let  who  would  call, — every  day  she  was  there, 
Propounding  receipts  for  some  delicate  fare, 
Some  toothsome  conserve,  of  quince,  apple,  or  pear, 
Or  distilling  strong  waters, — or  potting  a  hare, — 
Or  counting  her  spoons  and  her  crockery- ware  ; 
Or  else,  her  tambour-frame  before  her,  with  care 
Embroidering  a  stool  or  a  back  for  a  chair 
With  needle- work  roses,  most  cunning  and  rare, 
Enough  to  make  less  gifted  visitors  stare, 

And  declare,  where'er 

They  had  been,  that,  "  they  ne'er 
In  their  lives  had  seen  aught  that  at  all  could  compare 
With  dear  Lady  Jane's  housewifery — that  they  would  swear." 

Nay  more  ;  don't  suppose    With  such  doings  as  those 
This  account  of  her  merits  must  come  to  a  close  ; 
No ; — examine  her  conduct  more  closely,  you'll  find 
She  by  no  means  neglected  improving  her  mind ; 
For  there,  all  the  while,  with  air  quite  bewitching, 
She  sat  herring-boning,  tambouring2  or  stitching, 
Or  having  an  eye  to  affairs  of  the  kitchen. 

Close  by  her  side,    Sat  her  kinsman,  MacBride, 
Her  cousin,  fourteen-times  removed, — as  you'll  see 
If  you  look  at  the  Ingoldsby  family  tree, 
In  "  Burke's  Commoners,"  vol,  xx.,  page  53. 

All  the  papers  I've  read  agree,    Too,  with  the  pedigree, 
Where,  among  the  collateral  branches,  appears 
"  Captain  Dugald  MacBride,  Royal  Scots  Fusileera ; " 
And  I  doubt  if  you'd  find  in  the  whole  of  his  clan 
A  more  highly  intelligent,  worthy  young  man  ; — 

And  there  he'd  be  sitting,    While  she  was  a  knitting, 
Or  hemming,  or  stitching,  or  darning  and  fitting, 
Or  putting  a  "  gore,"  or  a  "  gusset,"  or  "  bit "  in, 
Reading  aloud,  with  a  very  grave  look, 
Some  very  "  wise  saw  "  from  some  very  good  book, — 

Some  such  pious  divine  as    St.  Thomas  Aquinas  : 

Or,  equally  charming,    The  works  of  Bellarmine  ; 

Or  else  he  nnravels    The  "  voyages  and  travel*  '* 


854  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

Of    Hackluytz — (how   sadly   these    Dutch   names    do    sully 

verse  !)— 

Purchas's,  Hawksworth's,  or  Lemuel  Gulliver's, — 
Not  to  name  others,  'mongst  whom  there  are  few  so 
Admired  as  John  Bunyan  and  Robinson  Crusoe. — 

No  matter  who  came,    It  was  always  the  same, 
The  Captain  was  reading  aloud  to  the  Dame, 
Till,  from  having  gone  through  half  the  books  on  the  shelf, 
They  were  almost  as  wise  as  Sir  Thomas  himself. 

Well,  it  happen'd  one  day,    — I  really  can't  say 
The  particular  month ;  but  I  think  'twas  in  May, — 
'Twas,  I  know,  in  the  Spring-time, — when  "  Nature  looks  gay," 
As  the  Poet  observes, — and  on  tree-top  and  spray 
The  dear  little  dickey -birds  carol  away ; 
When  the  grass  is  so  green,  and  the  sun  is  so  bright, 
And  all  things  are  teeming  with  life  and  with  light, — 
That  the  whole  of  the  house  was  thrown  into  affright, 
For  no  soul  could  conceive  what  was  gone  with  the  Knight ! 

It  seems  he  had  taken    A  light  breakfast — bacon, 
An  egg— with  a  little  broil'd  haddock — at  most 
A  round  and  a  half  of  some  hot  butterM  toast, 
With  a  slice  of  cold  sirloin  from  yesterday's  roast. 

And  then — let  me  see  1 —    He  had  two — perhaps  three 
Cups  (with  sugar  and  cream)  of  strong  gunpowder  tea, 
With  a  spoonful  in  each  of  some  choice  eau  de  vie, 
— Which  with  nine  out  of  ten  would  perhaps  disagree. — 

— In  fact,  I  and  my  son    Mix  "  black  "  with  our  "  Hyson," 
Neither  having  the  nerves  of  a  bull,  or  a  bison, 
And  both  hating  brandy  like  what  some  call  "  pison." 

No  matter  for  that —    He  had  call'd  for  his  hat, 
With  the  brim  that  I've  said  was  so  broad  and  so  flat, 
And  his  "  specs  "  with  the  tortoiseshell  rim,  and  his  cane 
With  the  crutch-handled  top,  which  he  used  to  sustain 
His  steps  in  his  walks,  and  to  poke  in  the  shrubs 
And  the  grass,  when  unearthing  his  worms  and  his  grubs — 
Thus  arm'd,  he  set  out  on  a  ramble — alack ! 
He  set  out,  poor  dear  Soul ! — but  he  never  came  back ! 

0  First  dinner-bell "  rang    Out  its  euphonious  clang 
At  five — folks  kept  early  hours  then — and  the  "  Last  '' 
Ding-dong'd,  as  it  ever  was  wont,  at  half -past, 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY.  355 

While  Betsy  and  Sally,    And  Thompson  the  Valet, 
And  every  one  else  was  beginning  to  bless  himself, 
Wondering  the  Knight,  had  not  come  in  to  dress  himself. — 
— Quoth  Betsy,  "  Dear  me !  why  the  fish  will  be  cold ! " 
Quoth  Sally,  "  Good  gracious !  how  '  Missis '  will  scold !  " 

Thompson,  the  Valet,    Look'd  gravely  at  Sally, 
As  who  should  say,  "  Truth  must  not  always  be  told  !  " 
Then,  expressing  a  fear  lest  the  Knight  might  take  cold, 

Thus  exposed  to  the  dews, 

Lamb's- wool  stockings  and  shoes, 

Of  each  a  fresh  pair,    He  put  down  to  air, 
And  hung  a  clean  shirt  to  the  fire  on  a  chair. — 

Still  the  Master  was  absent — the  Cook  came  and  said,  "  h. 
Much  fear'd,  as  the  dinner  had  been  so  long  ready, 

The  roast  and  the  boil'd    Would  be  all  of  it  spoil'd, 
And  the  puddings,  her  Ladyship  thought  such  a  treat, 
He  was  morally  sure,  would  be  scarce  fit  to  eat ! " 

This  closed  the  debate—    "  'Twould  be  folly  to  wait," 
Said  the  Lady,  "  Dish  up ! — Let  the  meal  be  served  straight, 
And  let  two  or  three  slices  be  put  on  a  plate, 
And  kept  hot  for  Sir  Thomas. — He's  lost  sure  as  fate ! 
And,  a  hundred  to  one,  won't  be  home  till  it's  late ! 
— Captain  Dugald  MacBride  then  proceeded  to  face 
The  Lady  at  table, — stood  up,  and  said  grace, — 
Then  set  himself  down  in  Sir  Thomas's  place. 

Wearily,  wearily,  all  that  night, 
That  live-long  night  did  the  hours  go  by ; 

And  the  Lady  Jane,    In  grief  and  in  pain, 
She  sat  herself  down  to  cry ! 

And  Captain  MacBride,    Who  sat  by  her  side, 
Though  I  really  can't  say  that  he  actually  cried, 

At  least  had  a  tear  in  his  eye  ! — 
As  much  as  can  well  be  expected,  perhaps, 
From  "  very  young  fellows  "  for  very  "  old  chaps ; " 

And  if  he  had  said    What  he'd  got  in  his  head, 
Twould  have  been, "  Poor  old  Buffer !  he's  certainly  dead  ! " 
The  morning  dawn'd, — and  the  next, — and  the  next, 
And  all  in  the  mansion  were  still  perplex'd  ; 
No  watch-dog  "  bay'd  a  welcome  home,"  as 
A  watch-dog  should  to  the  "  Good  Sir  Thomas ; " 


356  THE  INOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

No  knocker  fell    His  approach  to  tell, 
Not  so  much  as  a  runaway  ring  at  the  bell — 
The  Hall  was  silent  as  Hermit's  cell 

Yet  the  sun  shone  bright  upon  tower  and  tree, 
And  the  meads  smiled  green  as  green  may  be, 
And  the  dear  little  dickey-birds  caroll'd  with  glee, 
And  the  lambs  in  the  park  skipp'd  merry  and  free- 
Without  all  was  joy  and  harmony ! 

"  And  thus  'twill  be, — nor  long  the  day, — 
Ere  we,  like  him,  shall  pass  away ! 
Yon  Sun,  that  now  our  bosoms  warms, 
Shall  shine, — but  shine  on  other  forms  ; — 
Yon  Grove,  whose  choir  so  sweetly  cheers 
Us  now,  shall  sound  on  other  ears, — 
The  joyous  Lamb,  as  now,  shall  play, 
But  other  eyes  its  sports  survey, — 
The  stream  we  love  shall  roll  as  fair, 
The  flowery  sweets,  the  trim  Parterre 
Shall  scent,  as  now,  the  ambient  air, — 
The  Tree,  whose  bending  branches  bear 
The  One  loved  name — shall  yet  be  there ; — 
But  where  the  hand  that  carved  it?— Where?" 

These  were  hinted  to  me  as    The  very  ideas 
Which  pass'd  through  the  mind  of  the  fair  Lady  Jane, 
Her  thoughts  having  taken  a  sombre-ish  train, 
As  she  walk'd  on  the  esplanade,  to  and  again, 

With  Captain  MacBride,    Of  course,  at  her  side, 
Who  could  not  look  quite  so  forlorn, — though  he  tried, 
— An  "  idea,"  in  fact,  had  got  into  his  head, 
That  if  "  poor  dear  Sir  Thomas  "  should  really  be  dead, 
It  might  be  no  bad  "  spec  "  to  be  there  in  his  stead, 
And,  by  simply  contriving  in  due  time,  to  wed 

A  Lady  who  was  young  and  fair, 
A  Lady  slim  and  tall, 

To  set  himself  down  in  comfort  there, 
The  Lord  of  Tapton  Hall.— 

Thinks  he,  "  We  have  sent    Half  over  Kent, 
And  nobody  knows  how  much  money's  been  spent, 
Yet  no  one's  been  found  to  say  which  way  he  went ! — 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY.  857 

The  groom,  who's  been  over    To  Folkestone  and  Dover, 
Can't  get  any  tidings  at  all  of  the  rover ! 
— Here's  a  fortnight  and  more  has  gone  by,  and  we've  tried 
Every  plan  we  could  hit  on — the  whole  country-side, 
Upon  all  its  dead  walls,  with  placards  we've  supplied, — 
And  we've  sent  round  the  Crier,  and  had  him  well  cried— 

'  MISSING  !  I    Stolen,  or  strayed,    Lost  or  mislaid, 
A  GENTLEMAN  ; — middle-aged,  sober,  and  staid ; — 
Stoops  slightly  ; — and  when  he  left  home  was  array'd 
In  a  sad-colour'd  suit,  somewhat  dingy  and  fray'd  ; — 
Had  spectacles  on  with  a  tortoiseshell  rim, 
And  a  hat  rather  low-crown'd  and  broad  in  the  brim. 

Whoe'er    Shall  bear,    Or  shall  send  him  with  care 
(Right  side  uppermost)  home ;  or  shall  give  notice  where 
The  said  middle-aged  GENTLEMAN  is ;  or  shall  state 
Any  fact  that  may  tend  to  throw  light  on  his  fate, 
To  the  man  at  the  turnpike,  call'd  TAPPENGTON  GATE, 
Shall  receive  a  REWARD  of  FIVE  POUNDS  for  his  trouble, — 
(^-  N.B.— If  defunct  the  REWARD  will  be  double ! !  .0) ' 

Had  he  been  above  ground, 

He  must  have  been  found, 
No  ;  doubtless  he's  shot, — or  he's  hanged, — or  he's  drown'd ! 

Then  his  Widow — ay !  ay ! — 

But  what  will  folks  say  1 — 
To  address  her  at  once — at  so  early  a  day ! 
Well— what  then  ? — who  cares ! — let  'em  say  what  they  may — 
A  fig  for  their  nonsense  and  chatter  I — suffice  it,  her 
Charms  will  excuse  one  for  casting  sheep's  eyes  at  her  1 " 

When  a  man  has  decided 

As  Captain  MacBride  did, 

And  once  fully  made  up  his  mind  on  the  matter,  he 
Can't  be  too  prompt  in  unmasking  his  battery. 
He  began  on  the  instant,  and  vow'd  that  "  her  eyes 
Far  exceeded  in  brilliance  the  stars  in  the  skies, — 
That  her  lips  were  like  roses — her  cheeks  were  like  lilies — 
Her  breath  had  the  odour  of  daffy-down-dillies ! " — 
With  a  thousand  more  compliments  equally  true, 
And  express'd  in  similitudes  equally  new ! 

— Then  his  left  arm  he  placed 

Round  her  jimp,  taper  waist — 


358  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

— Ere  she  fix'd  to  repulse,  or  return,  his  embrace, 

Up  came  running  a  man,  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace, 

With  that  very  peculiar  expression  of  face 

Which  always  betokens  dismay  or  disaster, 

Crying  out — 'twas  the  Gardener, — "  Oh,  Ma'am !  we've  found 

Master!" 

— "  Where !  where  1 "  scream'd  the  lady  ;  and  Echo  scream'd 
"Where?" 

The  man  couldn't  say  "  There !  * 

He  had  no  breath  to  spare, 
But,  gasping  for  air,  he  could  only  respond 
By  pointing — he  pointed,  alas ! — TO  THE  POND. 
— "Twas  e'en  so — poor  dear  Knight  I — with  his  "  specs."  and  his 

hat, 
He'd  gone  poking  his  nose  into  this  and  to  that ; 

When,  close  to  the  side  of  the  bank  he  espied 
An  "  uncommon  fine  "  Tadpole,  remarkably  fat ! 

He  stoop'd ;  and  he  thought  her 

His  own  ;  he  had  caught  her  1  ' 
Got  hold  of  her  tail, — and  to  land  almost  brought  her, 
When — he  plump'd  head  and  heels  into  fifteen  feet  water ! 


The  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim, 

The  Lady  Jane  was  fair, 
Alas  for  Sir  Thomas ! — she  grieved  for  him, 
As  she  saw  two  serving  men,  sturdy  of  limb, 

His  body  between  them  bear, 
She  sobb'd,  and  she  sigh'd ;  she  lamented,  and  cried, 

For  of  sorrow  brimful  was  her  cup ; 
She  swoon'd,  and  I  think  she'd  have  fall'n  down  and  died, 

If  Captain  MacBride    Had  not  been  by  her  side, 
With  the  Gardener ;  they  both  their  assistance  supplied, 
And  managed  to  hold  her  up. — 

But  when  she  "  comes  to,"    Oh !  'tis  shocking  to  view 
The  sight  which  the  corpse  reveals  I 

Sir  Thomas's  body,    It  looks  so  odd — he 
Was  half  eaten  up  by  the  eels  1 
His  waistcoat  and  hose,  and  the  rest  of  his  clothes 
Were  all  gnaw'd  through  and  through  ; 
And  out  of  each  shoe    An  eel  they  drew  ; 


THE  KNIOIIT  AND  THE  LADY.  559 

And  from  each  of  his  pockets  they  pull'd  out  two  1 

And  the  Gardener  himself  had  secreted  a  few, 
As  well  we  may  suppose ; 

For,  when  he  came  running  to  give  the  alarm, 

He  had  six  in  the  basket  that  hung  on  his  arm 
Good  Father  John    Was  summon'd  anon ; 
Holy  water  was  sprinkled,    And  little  bells  tinkled, 
And  tapers  were  lighted,    And  incense  ignited, 

And  masses  were  sung,  and  masses  were  said, 

All  day,  for  the  quiet  repose  of  the  dead. 

And  all  night  no  one  thought  about  going  to  bed. 

But  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim 

And  Lady  Jane  was  fair, — 
And,  ere  morning  came,  that  winsome  dame 
Had  made  up  her  mind — or,  what's  much  the  same, 
Had  thought  about — once  more  "  changing  her  name," 

And  she  said,  with  a  pensive  air, 
To  Thompson,  the  valet,  while  taking  away, 
When  supper  was  over,  the  cloth  and  the  tray, — 
"  Eels  a  many    I've  ate  ; — but  any 

So  good  ne'er  tasted  before ! — 
They're  a  fish,  too,  of  which  I'm  remarkably  fond,— 
Go — pop  Sir  Thomas  again  in  the  Pond — 

Poor  dear  I— HE'LL  CATCH  us  SOME  MORE  ! ! " 

MORAL. 

All  middle-aged  Gentleman  let  me  advise, 

If  you're  married,  and  have  not  got  very  good  eyes, 

Don't  go  poking  about  after  blue-bottle  flies ! — 

If  you've  spectacles,  don't  have  a  tortoiseshell  rim, — 

And  don't  go  near  the  water, — unless  you  can  swim ! 

Married  Ladies,  especially  such  as  are  fair, 
Tall,  and  slim,  I  would  next  recommend  to  beware 
How,  on  losing  one  spouse,  they  give  way  to  despair  ; 
But  let  them  reflect,  "  There  are  fish,  and  no  doubt  on't — 
As  good  in  the  river  as  ever  came  out  on't ! " 

Should  they  light  on  a  spouse  that  is  given  to  roaming 

In  solitude — raison  de  plus,  in  the  "  gloaming," — 

Let  them  have  a  fix'd  time  for  said  spouse  to  come  home  in ! 


360  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  if,  when  "  last  dinner-bell "  'a  rung,  he  is  late, 
To  insure  better  manners  in  future — Don't  wait ! — 

If  of  husband  or  children  they  chance  to  be  fond, 
Have  a  stout  iron- wire  fence  put  all  round  the  pond  ! 

One  more  piece  of  advice,  and  I  close  my  appeals— 
That  is — if  you  chance  to  be  partial  to  eels, 
Then — Crede  experto — trust  one  who  has  tried — 
Have  them  spitch-cock'd — or  steVd — they're  too  oily  whec 
fried! 


! ! 

A   LEGEND   OF  BLEEDING-HEART    YARD. 
Did  you  ever  see  the  Devil  dance  ? — OLD  QUERY. 

SIB  CHRISTOPHER  HATTON  he  danced  with  grace, 

He'd  a  very  fine  form  and  a  very  fine  face, 

And  his  cloak  and  his  doublet  were  guarded  with  lace, 

And  the  rest  of  his  clothes,    As  you  well  may  suppose, 
In  taste  were  by  no  means  inferior  to  those  ; 

He'd  a  yellow-starch'd  ruff, 

And  his  gloves  were  of  buff, 
On  each  of  his  shoes  a  red  heel  and  a  rose. 
And  nice  little  moustaches  under  his  nose  ; 

Then  every  one  knows    How  he  turn'd  out  his  toes, 
And  a  very  great  way  that  accomplishment  goes, 
In  a  Court  where  it's  thought,  in  a  lord,  or  a  duke,  a 
Disgrace  to  fall  short  in  "  the  Brawls  " — (their  Cachouca). 
So  what  with  his  form  and  what  with  his  face, 
And  what  with  his  velvet  cloak  guarded  with  lace, 
And  what  with  his  elegant  dancing  and  grace, 

His  dress  and  address    So  tickled  Queen  Bess 
That  her  Majesty  gave  him  a  very  snug  place  ; 
And  seeing,  moreover,  at  one  single  peep,  her 
Advisers  were,  few  of  them,  sharper  or  deeper 
(Old  Burleigh  excepted),  she  made  him  Lord  Keeper ! 


THE  SOUSE-WARMING.  361 

I've  heard,  I  confess,  with  no  little  surprise, 
English  history  called  a  farrago  of  lies ; 

And  a  certain  Divine,    A  connection  of  mine, 
Who  ought  to  know  better,  as  some  folks  opine, 

Is  apt  to  declare,    Leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
With  a  sort  of  smirking,  self-satisfied  air, 
That  "  all  that's  recorded  in  Hume  and  elsewhere, 

Of  our  early  'Annales '    A  trumpery  tale  is, 
Like  the  'Bold  Captain  Smith's,'  and  the  'Luckless  Miss 

Bayley's ' — 

That  old  Roger  Hovedon,  and  Ralph  de  Diceto, 
And  others  (whose  name  should  I  try  to  repeat  o- 
ver,  well  I'm  assured  you  would  put  in  your  veto), 

Though  all  holy  friars    Were  very  great  liars, 
And  raised  stories  faster  than  Grissell  and  Peto — 
That  Harold  escaped  with  the  loss  of  a  '  glim ' — 
That  the  shaft  which  kill'd  Rufus  ne'er  glanced  from  a  limb 
Of  a  tree,  as  they  say,  but  was  aimed  slap  at  him, — 
That  fair  Rosamond  never  was  poison'd  or  spitted, 
But  outlived  Queen  Nell,  who  was  much  to  be  pitied  ; 
That  Nelly  her  namesake,  Ned  Longshank's  wife, 
Ne'er  went  crusading  at  all  in  her  life, 
Nor  suck'd  the  wound  made  by  the  poison-tipp'd  knife  ! 

For  as  she    O'er  the  sea, 

Towards  fair  Galilee, 

Never,  even  in  fancy,  march'd  carcass  or  shook  shanks, 
Of  course  she  could  no  more  suck  Longshanks  than  Cruik- 

shanks, 

But  leaving  her  spindle-legg'd  liege-lord  to  roam, 
Sta^d  behind,  and  suck'd  something  much  better  at  home, 

That  it's  quite  as  absurd 

To  say  Edward  the  Third, 
In  reviving  the  Garter,  afforded  a  handle 
For  any  Court-gossip,  detraction,  or  scandal, 

As  'twould  be  to  say,    That  at  Court  t'other  day, 
At  the  fete  which  the  newspapers  say  was  so  gay, 
His  Great  Representative  then  stole  away 
Lady  Salisbury's  garters  as  part  of  the  play. — 
— That  as  to  Prince  Hal's  being  taken  to  jail, 
By  the  London  Police,  without  mainprize  or  bail, 

For  cuffing  a  judge,    It's  a  regular  fudge ; 


362  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

And  that  Chief -Justice  Gascoigne,  it's  very  well  known, 

Was  kick'd  out  the  moment  he  came  to  the  throne. — 

— Then  that  Richard  the  Third  was  a  '  marvellous  proper 

man' — 
Never  kilTd,  injured,  or  wrongM  of  a  copper,  man  ! — 

Ne'er  wish'd  to  smother    The  sons  of  his  brother, — 
Nor  ever  struck  Harry  the  Sixth,  who,  instead 
Of  being  squabash'd,  as  in  Shakespeare  we've  read, 
Caught  a  bad  influenza,  and  died  in  his  bed, 
In  the  Tower,  not  far  from  the  room  where  the  Guard  is 
(The  octagon  one  that  adjoins  Duffus  Hardy's). 
— That,  in  short,  all  the  'facts'  in  the  Decem,  Scriptores, 
Are  nothing  at  all  but  sheer  humbugging  stories." 


Then  if  as  he  vows,  both  this  country  and  France  in, 
Historians  thus  gave  themselves  up  to  romancing, 
Notwithstanding  what  most  of  them  join  in  advancing 
Respecting  Sir  Christopher's  capering  and  prancing, 

'Twill  cause  no  surprise    If  we  find  that  his  rise 
Is  not  to  be  solely  ascribed  to  his  dancing ! 
The  fact  is,  Sir  Christopher,  early  in  life, 
As  all  bachelors  should  do,  had  taken  a  wife, 
A  Fanshawe  by  family, — one  of  a  house 
Well  descended,  but  boasting  less  "nobles  "  than  nousj 

Though  e'en  as  to  purse    He  might  have  done  worse, 
For  I  find,  on  perusing  her  Grandfather's  will,  it  is 
Clear  she  had  "  good  gifts  besides  possibilities," 

Owches  and  rings,    And  such  sort  of  things, 
Orellana  shares  (then  the  American  Stocks), 
JewelTd  stomachers,  coifs,  ruffs,  silk-stockings  with  clocks, 
Point-lace,  cambric  handkerchiefs,  night- caps,  and — socks — 
(Recondite  apparel  contain'd  in  her  box), 

— Then  the  height  of  her  breeding 

And  depth  of  her  reading 
Might  captivate  any  gay  youth,  and,  in  leading 
Him  on  to  "  propose,"  well  excuse  the  proceeding : 
Truth  to  tell,  as  to  "  reading,"  the  Lady  was  thought  to  do 
More  than  she  should,  and  know  more  than  she  ought  to  do  ; 

Her  maid,  it  was  said,    Declared  that  she  read 
(A  custom  all  staid  folks  discourage)  in  bed  ; 


THE  HOUSE-WARMINQ.  SG3 

And  that  often  o'  nights,    Odd  noises  and  sights 
In  her  mistress's  chamber  had  given  her  sad  frights, 
After  all  in  the  mansion  had  put  out  their  lights, 
And  she  verily  thought  that  hobgoblins  and  sprites 
Were  there,  kicking  up  all  sorts  of  devil's  delights  ; — 
Miss  Alice,  in  short,  was  supposed  to  "  collogue  " — I 
Don't  much  like  the  word — with  the  subtle  old  rogue,  I 
've  heard  call'd  by  so  many  names,  one  of  them's  "  Bogy  " — 

Indeed,  'twas  conceived,    And  by  most  folks  believed, 
— A  thing  at  which  all  of  her  well-wishers  grieved — 
That  should  she  incline  to  play  such  a  vagary, 
Like  sage  Lady  Branxholm,  her  comtempo-rary 
(Excuse  the  false  quantity,  reader,  I  pray), 
She  could  turn  a  knight  into  a  waggon  of  hay, 
Or  two  nice  little  boys  into  puppies  at  play, 
liaison  de  plus,  not  a  doubt  could  exist  of  her 
Power  to  turn  "  Kit  Hatton  "  into  "  Sir  Christopher  ;  * 
But  what  "  mighty  magic,"  or  strong  "  conjuration," 
Whether  love-  powder,  philtre,  or  other  potation, 

She  used,  I  confess,    I'm  unable  to  guess, — 

Much  less  to  express    By  what  skill  and  address 
She  "  cut  and  contrived  "  with  such  signal  success, 
As  we  Londoners  say,  to  "  inwiggle  "  Queen  Bess, 
Inasmuch  as  I  lack  heart    To  study  the  Black  Art ; 
Be  that  as  it  may, — it's  as  clear  as  the  sun, 
That,  however  she  did  it,  'twas  certainly  done ! 


Now,  they're  all  very  well,  titles,  honour,  and  rank, 
Still  we  can't  but  admit,  if  we  choose  to  be  frank, 
There's  no  harm  in  a  snug  little  sum  in  the  Bank ! 

An  old  proverb  says,  "  Pudding  still  before  praise  ! " 
An  adage  well  known  I've  no  doubt  in  those  days, 
And  George  Colman  the  Younger,  in  one  of  his  plays, 
Makes  one  of  his  characters  loudly  declare 
That  "  a  Lord  without  money," — I  quote  from  his  "  Heir- 
At-law  " — "  's  but  a  poor  wishy-washy  affair  ;  " — 
In  her  subsequent  conduct  I  think  we  can  see  a 
Strong  proof  the  Dame  enter  tain 'd  some  such  idea, 

For,  once  in  the  palace,    We  find  Lady  Alice 
Again  playing  tricks  with  her  Majesty's  chalice 


864  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

In  the  way  that  the  jocose,  in 

Our  days,  term  "  hocussing ;  " 
The  liquor  she  used,  as  I've  said,  she  kept  close, 
But  whatever  it  was,  she  now  doubled  the  dose  ! 

(So  true  is  the  saying     "  We  never  can  stay,  in 
Our  progress,  when  once  with  the  foul  fiend  we  league  us." ) 
— She  "  doctor'd  "  the  punch,  and  she  "  doctor'd  "  the  negus. 
Taking  care  not  to  put  in  sufficient  to  flavour  it, 

Till,  at  every  fresh  sip,    That  moisten'd  her  lip, 
The  Virgin  Queen  grew  more  attach'd  to  her  Favourite. 

"  No  end  "  now  he  commands    Of  money  and  lands, 
And,  as  George  Robins  says,  when  he's  writing  about  houses, 
"  Messuages,  tenements,  crofts,  tofts,  and  outhouses," 
Parks,  manors,  chases,  She  "  gives  and  she  grants, 
To  him  and  his  heirs,  and  his  imcles  and  aunts  ; " 
Whatever  he  wants,  he  has  only  to  ask  it, 
And  all  other  suitors  are  "  left  in  the  basket," 

Till  Dudley  and  Rawleigh    Began  to  look  squally, 
While  even  grave  Cecil,  the  famous  Lord  Burleigh, 
Himself,  "  shook  his  head,"  and  grew  snappish  and  surly. 

All  this  was  fine  sport,    As  our  authors  report, 
To  dame  Alice,  become  a  great  Lady  at  Court, 
Where  none  than  her  Ladyship's  husband  look'd  bigger, 
Who  "  led  the  brawls  "  still  with  the  same  grace  and  vigour, 
Though  losing  a  little  in  slimness  and  figure  ; 
For  eating  and  drinking  all  day  of  the  best 

Of  viands  well  drest,    With  "  Burgess's  Zest," 
Is  apt,  by  degress,  to  enlarge  a  man's  vest ; 
And,  what  in  Sir  Christopher  went  to  increase  it,  he 
'd  always  been  rather  inclined  to  obesity  ; 
— Few  men  in  those  times  were  found  to  grow  thinner 
With  beef-steaks  for  breakfast  and  pork-pie  for  dinner. 


Now  it's  really  a  difficult  problem  to  say 

How  long  matters  might  have  gone  on  in  this  way, 

If  it  had  not  unluckily  happen'd  one  day 

That  NICK, — who,  because    He'd  the  gout  in  his  claws 
And  his  hoofs — (he's  by  no  means  so  young  as  he  was, 
And  is  subject  of  late  to  a  sort  of  rheumatic  a- 
-ttack  that  partakes  both  of  gout  and  sciatica), — 


THE  HOUSE-WARMING.  865 

All  the  night  long  had  twisted  and  grinned, 

His  pains  much  increased  by  an  easterly  wind, 

Which  always  compels  him  to  hobble  and  limp, 

Was  strongly  advised  by  his  medical  Imp 

To  lie  by  a  little,  and  give  over  work, 

For  he'd  lately  been  slaving  away  like  a  Turk, 

On  the  Guinea-coast,  helping  to  open  a  brave  trade, 

In  niggers,  with  Hawkins  who  founded  the  slave-trade, 

So  he  call'd  for  his  ledger,  the  constant  resource 

Of  your  mercantile  folk,  when  they're  "  not  in  full  force ; " 

— If  a  cold  or  catarrh  makes  them  husky  and  hoarse, 

Or  a  touch  of  gout  keeps  them  away  from  "  the  BOURSE," 

They  look  over  their  books  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Now  scarce  had  Nick  turn'd  over  one  page  or  two, 

Ere  a  prominent  item  attracted  his  view, 

A  Bill !  that  had  now  been  some  days  overdue, 

From  one  Alice  Hatton,  nee  Fanshawe — a  name 

Which  you'll  recognise,  reader,  at  once  as  the  same 

With  that  borne  by  Sir  Christopher's  erudite  dame ! 

The  signature — much  more  prononcee  than  pink, 

Seem'd  written  in  blood — but  it  might  be  red  ink — 

While  the  rest  of  the  deed    He  proceeded  to  read, 
Like  ev'ry  "  bill,  bond,  or  acquittance  "  whose  date  is 
Three  hundred  years  old,  ran  in  Latin. — "  Sciatis 
(Diaboli  1)  omnes  ad  quos  hcec  pervenient — " 
— But  courage,  dear  Header,  I  mean  to  be  lenient, 
And  scorn  to  inflict  on  you  half  the  "  Law-reading," 
I  pick'd  up  "umquhile"  in  three  days'  special  pleading, 
Which  cost  me — a  theme  I'll  not  pause  to  digress  on — 
Just  thirty-three  pounds  six-and  eightpence  a  lesson — 
"  As  I'm  stout,  I'll  be  merciful,"  therefore,  and  sparing 
All  these  technicalities,  end  by  declaring 

The  deed  so  correct,    As  to  make  one  suspect 
(Were  it  possible  any  such  person  could  go  there) 
Old  Nick  had  a  Special  Attorney  below  there  : 
'Twas  so  fram'd  and  express'd  no  tribunal  could  shake  it, 
And  firm  as  red  wax  and  black  ferret  could  make  it. 


By  the  roll  of  his  eye    As  Old  Nick  put  it  by, 
It  was  clear  he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do 


866  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

In  respect  to  the  course  he  should  have  to  pursue, 
When  his  hoof  would  allow  him  to  put  on  a  shoe  1 1 

Now,  although  the  Lord  Keeper  held  under  the  crown,  house 
And  land  in  the  country — he'd  never  a  Town-house, 

And,  as  we  have  seen,    His  course  always  had  been, 
When  he  wanted  a  thing,  to  solicit  the  Queen, 
So  now,  in  the  hope  of  a  fresh  acquisition, 
He  danced  off  to  Court  with  his  "  Humble  Petition." 

"  Please  your  Majesty's  Grace,    I  have  not  a  place 
I  can  well  put  my  head  in,  to  dine,  sup,  or  sleep ! 
Your  Grace's  Lord  Keeper  has  nowhere  to  keep, 

So  I  beg  and  entreat,    At  your  Majesty's  feet, 
That  your  Grace  will  be  graciously  pleased  for  to  say, 

With  as  little  delay    As  your  Majesty  may, 
Where  your  Majesty's  Grace's  Lord  Keeper's  to  stay — 
— And  your  Grace's  Petitioner  ever  will  pray ! " 

The  Queen,  when  she  heard    This  petition  preferr'd, 
Gave  ear  to  Sir  Christopher's  suit  at  a  word  ; — 
"  Odds  Bobs,  my  good  Lord ! "  was  her  gracious  reply, 

"  I  don't  know,  not  I,    Any  good  reason  why 
A  Lord  Keeper,  like  you,  should  not  always  be  nigh 
To  advise — and  devise — and  revise — our  supply — 
A  House !  we're  surprised  that  the  thing  did  not  strike 
Us  before — Yesl — of  course! — Pray,  whose  house  would  you 

like? 

When  I  do  things  of  this  kind,  I  do  them  genteelly. 
A  House  ? — let  me  see !  there's  the  Bishop  of  Ely ! 
A  capital  mansion,  I'm  told,  the  proud  knave  is  in, 
Up  there  in  Holborn,  just  opposite  Thavies  Inn — 
Where  the  strawberries  grow  so  fine  and  so  big, 
Which  our  Grandmother's  Uncle  tuck'd  in  like  a  pig, 
King  Richard  the  Third,  which  you  all  must  have  read  of — 
The  day,— don't  you  know  1 — he  cut  Hastings'  head  off— 
And  mark  me,  proud  Prelate ! — I'm  speaking  to  you, 
Bishop  Heaton ! — you  need  not,  my  Lord,  look  so  blue — 
Give  it  up  on  the  instant  1    I  don't  mean  to  shock  you, 

Or   else   by ! — (The  Bishop  was  shock'd!) — I'll   unfrock 

you! I" 


THE  HOUSE-WARMINO.  367 

The  Queen  turns  abruptly  her  back  on  the  group, 
The  courtiers  all  bow  as  she  passes,  and  stoop 
To  kiss,  as  she  goes,  the  hind  flounce  of  her  hoop, 
And  Sir  Christopher,  having  thus  danced  to  some  tune, 
Skips  away  with  much  glee  in  his  best  rigadoon  ! 

While  poor  Bishop  Heaton,    Who  found  himself  beaten, 
In  serious  alarm  at  the  Queen's  contumelious 
And  menacing  tone,  at  once  gave  him  up  Ely  House, 
With  every  appurtenance  thereto  belonging, 
Including  the  strawberry-beds  'twas  so  strong  in ; 
Politely  he  bow'd  to  the  gratified  minion, 
And  said,  "  There  can  be,  my  good  lord,  in  opinion, 

No  difference  betwixt  yours    And  mine  as  to  fixtures, 
And  tables,  and  chairs —    We  need  no  survey'rs — 
Take  them  just  as  you  find  them,  without  reservation 
Grates,  coppers,  and  all,  at  your  own  valuation ! " 

Well  I  the  object  is  gain'd !    A  good  town-house  obtain'd 
The  next  thing  to  be  thought  of,  is  now 
The  "  house-warming  "  party — the  when  and  the  how, — 

The  Court  ladies  call,    One  and  all,  great  and  small, 
For  an  elegant  "  Spread,"  and  more  elegant  Ball, 
So,  Sir  Christopher,  vain  as  we  know  of  his  capering, 
No  sooner  had  finish'd  his  painting  and  papering 

Than  he  sat  down  and  wrote    A  nice  little  pink  note 
To  every  great  Lord  whom  he  knew,  and  his  spouse, 
"  From  our  poor  place  on  Holborn-hill  (late  Ely  House)  : 
Lord  Keeper  and  Dame  Alice  Hatton  request, 
Lord  So-and-so's  (name,  style,  or  title  exprest) 

Good  company  on    The  next  eve  of  St.  John," 
Viz  :  Friday  week,  June  24th,  as  their  guest, 

To  partake  of  pot-luck,    And  taste  a  fat  buck. 
N.B.    Venison  on  table  exactly  at  3, 
Quadrilles  in  the  afternoon. 

R.  S.  V.  P. 

For  my  good  Lord  of  So-and-so  these,  and  his  wife ; 
Eide !  ride !  for  thy  life  !  for  thy  life !  for  thy  life  I 
Thus,  courtiers  were  wont  to  indorse  their  expresses 
In  Harry  the  VHIth's  time,  and  also  Queen  Bess's. 


368  THE  1NOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

The  Dame,  for  her  part,  too,  took  order  that  cards 
Should  be  sent  to  the  mess-rooms  of  all  the  Hussars, 
The    Household    troops,    Train-bands,    and   horse    and    foot 
Guards. 

Well,  the  day  for  the  rout    At  length  came  about, 
And  the  bells  of  St.  Andrew's  rang  merrily  out, 
As  horse-litter,  coach,  and  pad-nag,  with  its  pillion, 
(The  mode  of  conveyance  then  used  by  "  the  Million,") 

All  gallant  and  grand    Denied  from  the  Strand. 
Some  through  Chancery  (then  an  unpaved  and  much  wetter) 

Lane, 

Others  through  Shoe  (which  was  not  a  whit  better)  Lane ; 
Others  through  Fewtar's  (corrupted  to  Fetter)  Lane , 
Some  from  Cheapside  and  St  Mary-le-Bow, 
From  Bishopsgate  Street,  Dowgate  Hill,  and  Budge  Row. 

They  come  and  they  go, 

Squire  and  Dame,  Belle  and  Beau, 

Down  Snore  Hill  (which  we  have  since  whitewash'd  to  Snow) 
All  eager  to  see  the  magnificent  show, 
And  sport  what  some  call  "  a  fantastical  toe  ; " 

In  silk  and  in  satin,    To  batten  and  fatten 
Upon  the  good  cheer  of  Sir  Christouher  Hatton. 

A  flourish,  trumpets ! — sound  again  1 
He  comes,  bold  Drake,  the  chief  who  made  a 

Fine  hash  of  all  the  pow'rs  of  Spain, 
And  so  served  out  their  Grand  Armada  : 

With  him  come  Frobisher  and  Hawkings, 

In  yellow  ruffs,  rosettes,  and  stockings. 

Room  for  my  Lord ! — proud  Leicester's  Earl 

Retires  awhile  from  courtly  cares, 
Who  took  his  wife,  poor  helpless  girl ! 

And  pitch'd  her  neck  and  heel  down-staira, 
Proving,  in  hopes  to  wed  a  richer, 
If  not  her  "  friend,"  at  least  her  "  pitcher." 

A  flourish,  trumpets ! — strike  the  drums  I 

Will  Shakspeare,  never  of  his  pen  sick, 
IB  here — next  Doctor  Masters  comes, 

Renown'd  afar  for  curing  men  sick,— 


THE  HOUSE-WARMING.  309 

Queen's  Serjeant  Barham  with  his  bums 

And  tipstaves,  coif,  and  wig  forensic 
(He  lost,  unless  Sir  Richard  lies,  his 
Life  at  the  famous  "  Black  Assizes  "). 

Room !   Room !  for  great  Cecil ! — place,  place,  for  his  Dame ! — 
Room  !  Room  I  for  Southampton — for  Sydney,  whose  name 
As  a  Preux  Chevalier,  in  the  records  of  Fame, 
"  Beats  Banagher  " — e'en  now  his  praises,  we  all  sing  'em, 
Knight,  Poet,  Gentleman  1— Rooml  for  Sage  Walsingham! 

Room  I  for  Lord  Hunsdon  I — for  Sussex ! — for  Rawleigh  I — 
For  INGOLIJSBY  1 1    Oh !  it's  enough  to  appal  ye ! 

Dear  me  I  how  they  call  I 

How  they  squall  1  how  they  bawl ! 
This  dame  has  lost  her  shoe — that  one  her  shawl — 
My  lord's  got  a  tumble — my  lady  a  fall  1 

Now  a  Hall !  a  Hall  I    A  Brawl  I  a  Brawl ! 
Here's  my  Lord  Keeper  Hatton,  so  stately  and  tall  I 
Has  led  out  Lady  Hunsdon  to  open  the  Ball. 

Fiddlers !    Fiddlers !  fiddle  away ! 
Resin  your  catgut !  fiddle  and  play  I 

A  roundelay  1    Fiddle  away  ! 
Obey  1  obey ! — hear  what  they  all  say ! 
Hip ! — Music  Nosey ! — play  up  there  1 1 — play  1 
Never  was  anything  half  so  gay 
As  Sir  Christopher  Hatton's  grand  holiday  1 

The  clock  strikes  twelve! — Who  cares  for  the  clock? 
Who  cares  for Hark ! — What  a  loud  Single- knock ! 

Dear  me  I  dear  me !    Who  can  it  be  ? — 
Why,  who  can  be  coming  at  this  time  of  night, 
With  a  knock  like  that  honest  folk  to  affright ! — 
"Affright?" — yes,  affright ! — there  are  many  who  mock 
At  fear,  and  in  danger  stand  firm  as  a  rock, 
Whom  the  roar  of  the  battle-field  never  could  shock, 
Yet  quail  at  the  sound  of  a  vile  "  Single  knock ! " 
Hark ! — what  can  the  Porter  be  thinking  of  ?-— What  1— 
If  the  booby  has  not  let  him  in  I'll  be  shot ! — 

Dear  me !  how  hot    The  room's  all  at  once  got ! — 

And  what  rings  through  the  roof  ?— 

It's  the  sound  of  a  hoof  ! 


870  THE  INQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

It's  some  donkey  a-coming  up-stairs  at  full  trot ! 
Stay ! — the  folding-doors  open !  the  leaves  are  thrown  back, 
And  in  dances  a  tall  Figurant — ALL  IN  BLACK  ! ! 
Gracious  me  what  an  entrechat !    Oh,  what  a  bound ! 
Then  with  what  an  a-plomb  he  comes  down  to  the  ground ! 

Look  there  !  look  there  !    Now  he's  up  in  the  air ! 
Now  he's  here !    now  he's  there ! — now  he's  no  one  knows 

where ! — 

See !  see ! — he's  kick'd  over  a  table  and  chair  ! 
There  they  go ! — all  the  strawberries,  flowers,  and  sweet  herbs, 

Turn'd  o'er  and  o'er    Down  on  the  floor, 
Ev'ry  caper  he  cuts  oversets  or  disturbs 
All  the  "  Keen's  Seedlings,"  and  "  Wilmot's  Superbs ! " 

There's  a  pir&uette  ! — we're 

All  a  great  deal  too  near ! 

A  ring  1 — give  him  room  or  he'll "  shin  "  you — stand  clear  ! 
There's  a  spring  again ! — oh !  'tis  quite  frightful ! — oh  dear  ! 
His  toe 's  broke  the  top  of  the  glass  chandelier !  1 

Now  he's  down  again — look  at  the  congees  and  bows 
And  salaams  which  he  makes  to  the  Dame  of  the  House, 
Lady  Alice,  the  noble  Lord  Treasurer's  spouse  1 

Come,  now  we  shall  view    A  grand  pas  de  deux 
Perform'd  in  the  very  first  style  by  these  two. 

— But  no ! — she  recoils — she  could  scarce  look  more  pale  if 
Instead  of  a  Beau's  'twas  the  bow  of  a  bailiff ! — 
He  holds  out  his  hand — she  declines  it,  and  draws 
Back  her  own — see ! — he  grasps  it  with  horrid  black  clav>  s, 
Like  the  short,  sharp,  strong  nails  of  a  Polar  Bear's  paws !  ! 

Then  she  "  scream'd  such  a  scream ! " 

Such  another,  I  deem, 

As,  long  after,  Miss  Mary  Brown  scream'd  in  her  dream. 
Well  she  might  1  for  'twas  shrewdly  remark'd  by  her  Page, 
A  sharp  little  boy  about  twelve  years  of  age, 

Who  was  standing  close  by    When  she  utter'd  her  cry, 
That  the  whole  of  her  arm  shrivell'd  up,  and  grew  dry, 
While  the  fingers  and  thumb  of  the  hand  he  had  got 
In  his  clutches  became  on  the  instant  RED  HOT  1 ! 

Now  he  whirls  and  he  twirls 
Through  the  girls  in  their  curls, 


THE  HOUSE-WARMING.  871 

And  their  rouge,  and  their  feathers,  and  diamonds,  and  pearls  ; 

Now  high, — now  low, —    Now  fast,  and  now  slow, 
In  terrible  circumgyration  they  go  ; 
The  flame-colour'd  Belle  and  he*  coffee-faced  Beau ! 

Up  they  go  once  !  and  up  they  go  twice ! — 
Round  the  hall!— round  the  hall  1— and  now  up  they   go 

thrice ! 

Now  one  grand  pirouette,  the  performance  to  crown ! 
Now  again  they  go  UP  !  1— and  they  NEVER  COME  DOWN  1 1 1 


The  thunder  roars !    And  the  rain  it  pours  I 
And  the  lightning  comes  in  through  the  windows  and  doors  I 

Then  more  calling,  and  bawling, 

And  squalling,  and  falling, 
Oh !  what  a  fearful  "  stramash  "  they  are  all  in ! 
Out  they  all  sally,    The  whole  corps  de .ballet — 
Some  dash  down  Holborn-hill  into  the  valley, 
Where  stagnates  Fleet  Ditch  at  the  end  of  Harp  Alley, 
Some  t'other  way  with  a  speed  quite  amazing, 
Nor  pause  to  take  breath  till  they  get  beyond  Gray's  Inn. 
In  every  sense  of  the  word,  such  a  rout  of  it, 
Never  was  made  in  London,  or  out  of  it  I 

When  they  came  the  next  day  to  examine  the  scene, 

There  was  scarcely  a  vestige  of  all  that  had  been ; 

The  beautiful  tapestry,  blue,  red,  and  green, 

Was  all  blacken'd  and  scorch'd,  and  look'd  dirty  and  mean. 

All  the  crockery  broken,  dish,  plate,  and  tureen ! 

While  those  that  look'd  up  could  perceive  in  the  roof, 

One  very  large  hole  in  the  shape  of  a  hoof/ 

Of  poor  Lady  Hatton,  it's  needless  to  say, 

No  traces  have  ever  been  found  to  this  day, 

Or  the  terrible  dancer  who  whisk'd  her  away ; 

But  out  in  the  court-yard — and  just  in  that  part 

Where  the  pump  stands — lay  bleeding  a  LARGE  HUMAN  Heart, 

And  sundry  large  stains    Of  blood  and  of  brains, 

Which  had  not  been  wash'd  off  notwithstanding  the  rains, 

Appear'd  on  the  wood,  and  the  handle  and  chains, 

As  if  somebody's  head,  with  a  very  hard  thump, 

Had  been  recently  knock'd  on  the  top  of  the  pump. 


372  THE  1NOOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

That  pump  is  no  more ! — that  of  which  you've  just  read, — 
But  they've  put  a  new  iron  one  up  in  its  stead, 

And  still,  it  is  said,    At  that "  small  hour  "  so  dread, 
When  all  sober  people  are  cosy  in  bed, 
There  may  sometimes  be  seen  on  a  moonshiny  night, 
Standing  close  by  the  new  pump  a  Lady  in  White, 
Who  keeps  pumping  away  with,  'twould  seem,  all  her  might, 
Though  never  a  drop  comes  her  pains  to  requite ! 
And  hence  many  passengers  now  are  debarr'd 
From  proceeding  at  nightfall  through  Bleeding-Heart  Yard  1 

MORAL 

Fair  ladies,  attend  I    And  if  you've  a  **  friend 
At  Court,"  don't  attempt  to  bamboozle  or  trick  her ! 
— Don't  meddle  with  negus,  or  any  mix'd  liquor  1 — 
Don't  dabble  in  "  Magic !  "  my  story  has  shown 
How  wrong  'tis  to  use  any  charms  but  your  own ! 

Young  gentlemen,  too,  may,  I  think,  take  a  hint 

Of  the  same  kind,  from  what  I've  here  ventured  to  print 

All  Conjuring's  bad !  they  may  get  in  a  scrape, 
Before  they're  aware,  and  whatever  its  shape, 
They  may  find  it  no  easy  affair  to  escape. 
It's  not  everybody  that  comes  off  so  well 
Erom  leger-de-main  tricks  as  Mr.  Brunei 

Don't  dance  with  a  Stranger  who  looks  like  a  Guy, 
And  when  dancing  don't  cut  your  capers  too  high  I 

Depend  on't  the  fault's  in    Your  method  of  waltzing, 
If  ever  you  kick  out  the  candles — don't  try ! 

At  a  ball  or  a  play,    Or  any  soiree, 
When  a  petit  souper  constitutes  the  "  Apres" 
If  strawb'ries  and  cream  with  CHAMPAGNE  form  a  part, 
Take  care  of  your  HEAD — and  take  care  of  your  HEART  ! 

If  you  want  a  new  house    For  yourself  and  your  spouse, 
Buy,  or  build  one, — and  honestly  pay,  every  brick,  for  it  I 
Don't  be  so  green  as  to  go  to  Old  Nick  for  it — 
— Go  to  George  Robins — he'll  find  you  "  a  perch  " 
(Dulce  Domum's  his  word)  without  robbing  the  Church. 


THE  FORLORN  ONE.  373 

The  last  piece  of  advice  which  I'd  have  you  regard 

Is,  "  don't  go  of  a  night  into  Bleeding-Heart  Yard," 

It's  a  dark,  little,  dirty,  black,  ill-looking  square, 

With  queer  people  about,  and  unless  you  take  care, 

You  may  find  when  your  pocket's  clean'd  out  and  left  bare, 

That  the  iron  one  is  not  the  only  "  PUMP  "  there ! 


jforlont 

AH  1  why  those  piteous  sounds  of  woe, 
Lone  wanderer  of  the  dreary  night  1 

Thy  gushing  tears  in  torrents  flow, 
Thy  bosom  pants  in  wild  affright ! 

And  thou,  within  whose  iron  breast 
Those  frowns  austere  too  truly  tell, 

Mild  pity,  heaven-descended  guest, 
Hath  never,  never  deign'd  to  dwell. 

"  That  rude,  uncivil  touch  forego," 

Stern  despot  of  a  fleeting  hour ! 
Nor  "make  the  angels  weep  "  to  know 

The  fond  "  fantastic  tricks  "  of  power  ! 

Know'st  thou  not  "  mercy  is  not  strain'd, 
But  droppeth  as  the  gentle  dew," 

And  while  it  blesseth  him  who  gain'cl, 
It  blesseth  him  who  gave  it,  too  1 

Say,  what  art  thou  ?  and  what  is  he, 

Pale  victim  of  despair  and  pain, 
Whose  streaming  eyes  and  bended  knee 

Sue  to  thee  thus — and  sue  in  vain  1 

Cold  callous  man  ! — he  scorns  to  yield, 

Or  aught  relax  his  felon  gripe, 
But  answers,  "  I'm  Inspector  Field  ! 

And  this  here  warment's  prigg'd  your  wipe.' 


874  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


BY  MISS  JEMIMA  INGOLDSBY,  AGED  15. 

{Communicated  by  her  Cousin  Tom.) 

OH  !  how  I  should  like  in  a  Coach  to  ride, 
Like  the  Sheriffs  I  saw  upon  Lord  Mayor's  day, 

With  a  Coachman  and  little  Postilion  astride 
On  the  back  of  the  leader,  a  prancing  bay. 

And  then  behind  it,  oh  !  I  should  glory 
To  see  the  tall  serving  men  standing  upright, 

Like  the  two  who  attend  Mr.  Montefiore 
(Sir  Moses  I  should  say),  for  now  he's  a  Knight. 

And  then  the  liveries,  I  know  it  is  rude  to 
Find  fault  —  but  I'll  hint  as  he  can't  see  me  blush, 

That  I'd  not  have  the  things  I  can  only  allude  to 
Either  orange  in  hue  or  constructed  of  plush  ; 

But  their  coats  and  their  waistcoats  and  hats  are  delightful, 
Their  charming  silk  stockings  —  I  vow  and  declare 

Our  John's  ginger  gaiters  so  wrinkled  and  frightful, 
I  never  again  shall  be  able  to  bear. 

Oh  !  how  I  should  like  to  have  diamonds  and  rubies, 
And  large  plume  of  feathers  and  flowers  in  my  hair. 

My  gracious  !  to  think  how  our  Tom  and  those  boobies, 
Jack  Smith  and  his  friend  Mister  Thompson,  would  stare. 

Then  how  I  should  like  to  drive  to  Guildhall, 

And  to  see  the  nobility  flocking  in  shoals, 
With  their  two-guinea  tickets  to  dance  at  the  ball 

Which  the  Lord  Mayor  gives  for  the  relief  of  the  Poles. 

And  to  look  at  the  gas  so  uncommonly  pretty, 
And  the  stars  and  the  armour  all  just  as  they  were 

The  day  that  the  Queen  came  in  state  to  the  City 
To  dine  with  the  whole  Corporation  and  Mayor. 

Oh  !  how  I  shoiild  like  to  see  Jane  and  Letitia, 
Miss  Jones  and  the  two  Misses  Frump  sitting  still, 

While  dear  Ensign  Brown,  of  the  West  Kent  Militia, 
Solicits  my  hand  for  the  "Supper"  Quadrille. 


HERMANN;    OR,   THE  BROKEN  SPEAR. 

With  fine  white  his  teeth  and  his  cheek  like  a  rose, 
And  his  black  cravat  and  his  diamond  pin, 

And  the  nice  little  moustache  under  his  nose, 
And  the  dear  little  tuft  on  the  tip  of  his  chin. 

And  how  I  should  like  some  fine  morning  to  ride 
In  my  coach,  and  my  white  satin  shoes  and  gown, 

To  St.  James's  Church,  with  a  Beau  by  my  side, 
And  I  shouldn't  much  care  if  his  name  was  Brown, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Hermann;  or,  tfte  Broken  £>pear* 

AN  Emperor,  famous  in  council  and  camp, 
Has  a  son  who  turns  out  a  remarkable  scamp ; 

Takes  to  dicing  and  drinking, 

And  d — inning  and  sinking, 

And  carries  off  maids,  wives,  and  widows,  like  winking ! 
Since  the  days  of  Arminius,  his  namesake,  than  Hermann 
There  never  was  seen  a  more  profligate  German. 

He  escapes  from  the  city ;    And  joins  some  banditti 
Insensible  quite  to  remorse,  fear,  and  pity ; 
Joins  in  all  their  carousals,  and  revels  and  robberies, 
And  in  kicking  up  all  sorts  of  shindies  and  bobberies. 

Well,  hearing  one  day    His  associates  say 
That  a  bridal  procession  was  coming  their  way, 

Inflamed  with  desire,  he    Breaks  into  a  priory, 
And  kicking  out  every  man  Jack  of  a  friar,  he 
Upsets  in  a  twinkling  the  mass-books  and  hassocks, 
And  dresses  his  rogues  in  the  clergymen's  cassocks. 

The  new-married  folks    Taken  in  by  this  hoax, 
Mister  Hermann  grows  frisky  and  full  of  his  jokes : 


376  THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

To  the  serious  chagrin  of  her  late  happy  suitor, 
Catching  hold  of  the  Bride,  he  attempts  to  salute  her. 

Now  Heaven  knows  what    Had  become  of  the  lot, 
It's  Turtle  to  Tripe  they'd  have  all  gone  to  pot — 

If  a  Dumb  Lady,  one    Of  her  friends,  had  not  run 
To  her  aid,  and,  quite  scandalized,  stopp'd  all  his  fun  ! 

Just  conceive  what  a  caper    He  cut,  when  her  taper 
Long  fingers  scrawl'd  this  upon  whitey-brown  paper 
(At  the  instant  he  seized,  and  before  he  had  kiss'd  her) — 
"  Ha'  done,  Mister  Hermann  !  for  shame  :  it's  your  sister  !  " 
His  hair  stands  on  end, — he  desists  from  his  tricks, 
And  remains  in  a  "  pretty  particular  fix," 

As  he  knows  Sir  John  Nicholl    Still  keeps  rods  in  pickle 
Offences  of  this  kind  severely  to  tickle. 
At  so  near  an  escape  from  his  court  and  its  sentence 
His  eyes  fill  with  tears  and  his  breast  with  repentance  : 

So,  picking  and  stealing,    And  unrighteous  dealing 
Of  all  sorts,  he  cuts,  from  this  laudable  feeling : 

Of  wickedness  weary,    With  many  a  tear,  he 
Now  takes  a  French  leave  of  the  vile  Condottieri  : 
And  the  next  thing  we  hear  of  this  penitent  villain 
He  is  begging  in  rags  in  the  suburbs  of  Milan. 

Half -starved,  meagre,  and  pale,    His  energies  fail, 
When  his  sister  comes  in  with  a  pot  of  mild  ale  : 

But  though  tatter'd  his  jerkins, 

His  heart  is  whole, — workings 
Of  conscience  debar  him  from  "  Barclay  and  Perkins." 

"  I'll  drink,"  exclaims  he,    "  Nothing  stronger  than  tea, 
And  that  but  the  worst  and  the  weakest  Bohea, 
Till  I've  done — from  my  past  scenes  of  folly  a  far  actor- 
Some  feat  shall  redeem  both  my  wardrobe  and  character." 
At  signs  of  remorse  so  decided  and  visible 
Nought  can  equal  the  joy  of  his  fair  sister  Isabel, 

And  the  Dumb  Lady  too, 

Who  runs  off  to  a  Jew 

And  buys  him  a  coat  of  mail  spick  and  span  new, 
In  the  hope  that  his  prowess  and  deeds  as  a  Knight 
Will  keep  his  late  larcenies  quite  out  of  sight. 
By  the  greatest  good  luck,  his  old  friends  the  banditti 
Choose  this  moment  to  make  an  attack  on  the  city  ! 


HERMANN ;   OR,    THK   BROKEN  SPEAR.  377 

Now  you  all  know  the  way, 

Heroes  hack,  hew,  and  slay, 
When  once  they  get  fairly  mixed  up  in  a  fray  : 

Hermann  joins  in  the  mel£e, 

Pounds  this  to  a  jelly, 

Kuns  that  through  the  back,  and  a  third  through  the  belly, 
Till  many  a  broken  bone,  bruised  rib,  and  flat  head, 
Makes  his  ci-devant  friends  curse  the  hour  that  he  ratted. 

Amid  so  many  blows,    Of  course  you'll  suppose 
He  must  get  a  black  eye,  or,  at  least,  bloody  nose  : 
"  Take  that !  "    cried  a  bandit,  and  struck,  while  he  spoke  it, 
His  spear  in  his  breast,  and,  in  pulling  it  out,  broke  it 

Hermann  fainted  away,    When,  as  breathless  he  lay, 
A  rascal  claim'd  all  the  renown  of  the  day  ; 
A  recreant,  cowardly,  white-liver'd  knight, 
Who  had  skulk'd  in  a  furze-bush  the  whole  of  the  fight. 

But  the  Dumb  Lady  soon    Put  some  gin  in  a  spoon, 
And  half  strangles  poor  Hermann,  who  wakes  from  his  swoon, 
And  exhibits  his  wound,  when  the  head  of  the  spear 
Fits  its  handle,  and  makes  his  identity  clear, 
The  murder  thus  out,  Hermann's  feted  and  thanked, 
While  his  rascally  rival  gets  toss'd  in  a  blanket ; 

And  to  finish  the  play — As  reform'd  rakes,  they  say, 
Make  the  best  of  all  husbands — the  very  same  day 
Hermann  sends  for  a  priest,  as  he  must  wed  with  some — lady, 
Buys  a  ring  and  a  licence,  and  marries  the  Dumb  Lady. 

MORAL. 

Take  warning,  young  people,  of  every  degree, 

From  Hermann's  example,  and  don't  live  too  free  1 

If  you  get  in  bad  company,  fly  from  it  soon  1 

If  you  chance  to  get  thrash'd,  take  some  gin  in  a  spoon  ; 

And  remember,  since  wedlock's  not  all  sugar-candy, 

If  you  wish  to  'scape  "  wigging  "  a  dumb  wife's  the  dandy  ! 


878  THE  INGOLDSBY"  LEGENDS. 

Cf;e  poplar. 

AY,  here  stands  the  poplar  so  tall  and  so  stately, 
On  whose  tender  rind — 'twas  a  little  one  then — 

We  carved  her  initials  ;  though  not  very  lately — 
We  think  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  ten. 

Yes,  here  is  the  G  which  proclaim'd  Georgiana  ; 

Our  heart's  empress  then ;  see,  'tis  grown  all  askew  : 
And  it's  not  without  grief  we  perforce  entertain  a 

Conviction,  it  now  looks  much  more  like  a  Q. 

This  should  be  the  great  D  too,  that  once  stood  for  Dobbin, 

Her  loved  patronymic — ah !  can  it  be  so  ? 
Its  once  fair  proportions,  time,  too,  has  been  robbing ; 

A  D 1— we'll  be  Deed  if  it  isn't  an  O  ! 

Alas  !  how  the  soul  sentimental  it  vexes, 
That  thus  on  our  labours  stern  Chronos  should  frown, 

Should  change  our  soft  liquids  to  izzards  and  Xes, 
And  turn  true-love's  alphabet  all  upside  down  ! 


(IMITATED  FROM  MAETIAL.) 

A  FRIEND  I  met  some  half -hour  since — 

u  Good  morrow,  Jack  !  "  quoth  I ; 
The  new-made  Knight,  like  any  Prince 

Frown'd,  nodded,  and  pass'd  by  ; 
When  up  came  Jem — "  Sir  John,  your  Slave  !  " 

"  Ah,  James ;  we  dine  at  eight — 
Fail  not — (low  bows  the  supple  knave) 

Don't  make  my  lady  wait" 
The  King  can  do  no  wrong  1    As  I'm  a  sinner, 
He's  spoilt  an  honest  tradesman  and  my  dinner. 


SON&.  370 


Cmtfesfcum, 


THERE'S  somewhat  on  my  breast,  father. 

There's  somewhat  on  my  breast  ! 
The  livelong  day  I  sigh,  father, 

And  at  night  I  cannot  rest 
I  cannot  take  my  rest,  father, 

Though  I  would  fain  do  so  ; 
A  weary  weight  oppresseth  me  — 

This  weary  weight  of  woe  1 

'Tis  not  the  lack  of  gold,  father, 

Nor  want  of  worldly  gear  ; 
My  lands  are  broad,  and  fair  to  see, 

My  friends  are  kind  and  dear. 
My  kin  are  leal  and  true,  father, 

They  mourn  to  see  my  grief  ; 
But,  oh  !  'tis  not  a  kinsman's  hand 

Can  give  my  heart  relief  ! 

'Tis  not  that  Janet's  false,  father, 

'Tis  not  that  she's  unkind  ; 
Though  busy  flatterers  swarm  around, 

I  know  her  constant  mind. 
'Tis  not  her  coldness,  father, 

That  chills  my  labouring  breast  ; 
It's  that  confounded  cucumber 

I've  ate  and  can't  digest 


THERE  sits  a  bird  on  yonder  tree, 
More  fond  than  Cushat  Dove ; 

There  sits  a  bird  on  yonder  tree, 
And  sings  to  me  of  love. 

Oh  !  stoop  thee  from  thine  eyrie  down  f 
And  nestle  thee  near  my  heart, 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

For  the  moments  fly,    And  the  hour  is  nigh, 
When  thou  and  I  must  part, 

My  love  ! 
When  thou  and  I  must  part. 

In  yonder  covert  lurks  a  Fawn, 

The  pride  of  the  sylvan  scene  ; 
In  yonder  covert  lurks  a  Fawn, 

And  I  am  his  only  queen  ; 
Oh  !  bound  from  thy  secret  lair, 

For  the  sun  is  below  the  west ; 

No  mortal  eye    May  our  meeting  spy, 
For  all  are  closed  in  rest, 

My  love  ! 
Each  eye  is  closed  in  rest. 

Oh  !  sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn, 
When  the  sun's  first  beams  appear  : 

Oh  !  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  strain, 
When  it  dies  on  the  list'ning  ear ; 

And  sweet  the  soft  voice  which  speaks 
The  Wanderer's  welcome  home  ; 
But  sweeter  far    By  yon  pale  mild  star, 

With  our  true  Love  thus  to  roam, 
My  dear ! 

With  our  own  true  Love  to  roam  ! 


THE  LAST  LINES  OF  THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Merrie  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  spraye  ! 
There  came  a  noble  Knyghte, 
With  his  hauberke  shynynge  brighte, 
And  his  gallant  heart  was  lyghte, 

Free  and  gaye  ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  he  rode  upon  his  waye 


AS  I  LAYE  A-THYNKYNOE.  381 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  tree  ! 

There  seem'd  a  crimson  plain, 

Where  a  gallant  Knyghte  lay  slayne, 

And  a  steed  with  broken  rein 

Ran  free, 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  most  pitiful  to  see  ! 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkyuge, 
Merrie  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  bough e  ; 

A  lovely  Mayde  came  bye, 

And  a  gentil  youth  was  nyghe, 

And  he  breathed  many  a  syghe 

And  a  vowe ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  her  hearte  was  gladsome  now. 

As  I  laye  a  thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  thorne  ; 

No  more  a  youth  was  there, 

But  a  Maiden  rent  her  haire, 

And  cried  in  sad  despaire, 

"  That  I  was  borne ! " 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  she  perished  f  orlorne. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sweetly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  briar  ; 

There  came  a  lovely  Childe, 

And  his  face  was  meek  and  mild, 

Yet  joyously  he  smiled 

On  his  sire ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a  Cherub  mote  admire. 

But  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
And  sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  it  perch'd  upon  a  bier ; 

That  joyous  smile  was  gone, 

And  the  face  was  white  and  wan, 

As  the  downe  upon  the  Swan 

Doth  appear, 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge — oh  !  bitter  flow'd  the  tear  ! 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  the  golden  sun  was  sinking, 
O  merrie  sang  that  Birde  as  it  glitter'd  on  her  breast. 


882  THE  1NQOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 

With  a  thousand  gorgeous  dyes, 
While  soaring  to  the  skies, 
'Mid  the  stars  she  seem'd  to  rise, 

As  to  her  nest. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  her  meaning  was  exprest  :— • 
"  Follow,  follow  me  away, 
It  boots  not  to  delay," — 
Twas  so  she  seem'd  to  saye, 
"  HERE  is  BEST  ! " 

T.  I. 


THE  END. 


BY  CABBKLL  <fc  COMPASY,  LIMITED,  LA  BKLLK  BAVVAGB,  LONDOK,  E.G. 
30.102 


Selections 

from 

Cassell  &  Compati/8 
Publications. 


5  o.— 9.01. 


Selections  from  Cassell  &  Company's  Publications. 


Illustrated,  Fine-Art,  and  other  Volumes. 


Admirable  Lady  Biddy  Fane,  The. 
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Adventures  of  Captain  Horn,  The. 
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Adventure,  The  World  of.  Cheap 
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In  Three  Vols.  55.  each. 

Afield  and  Afloat.  By  FRANK 
STOCKTON.  6s. 

Alice  of  Old  Vincennes.  By 
MAURICE  THOMPSON.  6s. 

Ambassador's  Adventure,  The.  By 
ALLEN  UPWARD.  6s. 

An  Eton  Boy's  Letters.  By  NUGENT 
BANKES.  55. 

Animals,  Popular  History  of.  By 
HENRY  SCHERREN,  F.Z.S.  With 
13  Coloured  Plates  and  other  Illus- 
trations. 6s. 

Army  Business,  The,  and  its  London 
Office.  By  a  Colonel  in  Business, 
is. 

Art,  Sacred.  With  nearly  200  Full- 
page  Illustrations  and  descriptive 
text.  In  One  Vol.,  95. 

Art,  The  Magazine  of.  With  ex- 
quisite Photogravures,  a  Series  of 
Full-page  Plates,  and  hundreds  of 
Illustrations.  Yearly  Vol. ,  2 is. 

Artistic  Anatomy.  By  Prof.  M. 
DUVAL.  Cheap  Edition.  35.  6d. 

Automobile,  The  :  Its  Construction 
and  Management.  Translated 
from  Gerard  Lavergne's  "  Manuel 
The'oretique  et  Pratique  de  L'Auto- 
mobile  sur  Route."  With  Additions 
and  New  Illustrations.  Revised 
and  Edited  by  PAUL  N.  HASLUCK. 
los.  6d.  net. 

Avenger  of  Blood,  The.  By  J. 
MACLARF.N  COBBAN.  35.  6d. 

Awkward  Squads,  The,  and  other 
Ulster  Stories.  By  SHAN  F. 
BULLOCK.  35.  6d. 

Ballads  and  Songs.  By  WILLIAM 
MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY.  With 
Original  Illustrations.  6s. 

Barber,  Charles  Burton,  The  Works 
Of.  With  41  Plates  and  Portraits, 
and  Introduction  by  HARRY 
FUKNISS.  Ckeaf  Edition.  7*.  6d. 


Behind  the  Scenes  in  the  Transvaal. 

By  D.  MACKAY  WILSON.     75.  6d. 
Berry,  D.D.,  Rev.  C.  A.,  Life  of.     By 

the  Rev.  J.  S.  DRUMMOND.      With 

Portrait,  6s. 
Birds,  Our  Rarer  British  Breeding  : 

Their  Nests,  Eggs,  and  B  eeding 

Haunts.    By  R.  KEARTON,  F.Z.S. 

With   about  70   Illustrations  from 

Photographs    by    C.     KEARTON. 

73.  6d. 
Bitter  Heritage,  A.     By  J.  BLOUN- 

DELLE-BURTON.       6s. 

Black    Arrow,    The.        By    R.    L. 

STEVENSON.  6s.   Popular  Edition, 
35.  6d. 

Boer  War,  Cassell's  Illustrated 
History  of  the.  75.  6d. 

Britain's  Roll  of  Glory;  or,  The 
Victoria  Cross,  its  Heroes  and 
their  Valour.  By  D.  H.  PARRY. 
Illustrated.  Cheap  Edition.  35.  6d. 

Britain's  Sea-Kings  and  Sea-Fights. 
Profusely  Illustrated.  Complete 
Volume.  75.  6d. 

British  B  Iliads.  With  300  Original 
Illustrations.  Cheap  Edition.  Two 
Vols.  in  One.  Cloth,  7$.  6d. 

British  Battles  on  Land  and  Sea. 
By  JAMES  GRANT.  With  about 
800  Illustrations.  Cheap  Edition. 
In  Four  Vols. ,  35.  6d.  each. 

British  Sculpture  and  Sculptors  of 
To-day.  By  M.  H.  SPIELMANN. 
Illustrated.  Paper  covers,  55.  net ; 
cloth,  73.  6d.  net. 

Building  World.  Half-Yearly  Vols. , 
45.  6d.  each. 

By  a  Hair's  Breadth.  By  HEADON 
HILL.  35.  6d. 

Campaign  Pictures  of  the  War  in 
South  Africa  (1899-1900).  Letters 
from  the  Front.  By  A.  G.  HALES. 
6s. 

Canaries  and  Cage-Birds,  The  Illus- 
trated Book  of.  With  56  Facsimile 
Coloured  Plates,  355.;  Half-morocco, 

£»s*. 

Cassell's  Magazine.  Half  -  Yearly 
Volume,  55. ;  Yearly  Volume,  8s. 


Selections  from  Cassell  5°  Company's  Publications.       3 


Cathedrals,  Abbeys,  and  Churches 
of  England  and  Wales.  Descrip- 
tive, Historical,  Pictorial.  Popular 
Edition.  Two  Vols.,  123.  the  set. 

Catriona.  By  R.  L.  STEVENSON. 
6s.  Popular  Edition.  33.  6d. 

Chinese  Crisis,  The  Story  of  the. 
By  ALEXIS  KRAUSSE.  33.  6d. 

Chinese  Pictures.  Notes  on  Photo- 
graphs made  in  China.  By  Mrs. 
BISHOP,  F.R.G.S.  (ISABELLA  BIRD) 
With  60  Illustrations  from  Photo- 
graphs by  the  Author.  33.  6d. 

Chinese  Porcelain.  By  COSMO  MONK- 
HOUSE.  Illustrated.  303.  net.  This 
Edition  is  limited  to  1,000  copies. 

Chums.  The  Illustrated  Paper  for 
Boys.  Yearly  Volume,  8s. 

Civil  Service,  Guide  to  Employment 
in  the.  Entirely  New  Edition. 
Paper,  is.;  cloth,  is.  6d. 

Clinical  Manuals  for  Practitioners 
and  Students  of  Medicine.  A  List 
of  Volumes  forwarded  post  free  on 
application  to  the  Publishers. 

Clyde,  CasselTs  Pictorial  Guide  to 
the.  With  ii  Coloured  Plates, 
18  Maps,  and  other  Illustrations. 
Paper  covers,  6d. ;  cloth,  is. 

Colour.  By  Prof.  A.  H.  CHURCH. 
With  Coloured  Plates.  35.  6d. 

Conning  Tower,  In  a;  or,  How  I  took 
H.M.S.  "Majestic"  into  Action. 
By  H.  O.  ARNOLD-FORSTER,  M.A. 
Cheap  Edition.  Illustrated,  6d. ; 
cloth,  is. 

Cookery,  Cassell's  Dictionary  of. 
With  about  9,000  Recipes.  55. 

Cookery  for  Common  Ailment',   is. 

Cookery,  a  Year's.  By  PHYLLIS 
BROWNE.  Cheap  Edition,  is. 

Cookery  Book,  Cassell's  Universal. 
By  LIZZIE  HERITAGE.  With  12 
Coloured  Plates  and  other  Illus- 
trations. 6s. 

Cookery,  Cassell's  Shilling.  Limp 
cloth,  is. 

Cookery,  Vegetarian.  By  A.  G. 
PAYNE.  Cheap  Edition,  is. 

Cooking  by  Gas,  The  Art  of.  By 
MARIE  J.  SUGG.  Illustrated.  25. 

Copyright  in  Books,  The  Law  and 
History  of.  By  AUGUSTINE  BIR- 
KELL,  M.P.  31.  6d.  net. 


Countries  of  the  World,  The.  By 
ROBERT  BROWN,  M.A.,  F.L.S., 
&c.  Cheap  Edition.  Illustrated. 
In  Six  Vols.  6s.  each. 

Cupid's  Garden.    By  ELLEN  THOR- 

NEYCROFT   FOWLER.      35.    6d. 

Cyclopaedia,  Cassell's  Concise.  With 
about  600  Illustrations.  53. 

Cyclopaedia,  Cassell's  Miniature. 
Containing  30,000  subjects.  Cheap 
and  Revised  Edition.  Limp  cloth, 
is.;  cloth  gilt,  is.  6d. 

Dainty  Breakfasts,  The  Dictionary 
of.  By  PHYLLIS  BROWNE,  is. 

Dante  in  Paradise,  With :  Readings 
from  the  "Paradiso."  By  ROSE 
E.  SELFE.  6  Illustrations.  25. 

"  Death  or  Glory  Boys,"  The.  The 
Story  of  the  ijth  Lancers.  By 
D.  H.  PARRY.  6s. 

Dog,  Illustrated  Book  of  the.  By 
VERO  SHAW,  B.A.  With  28  Col- 
oured Plates.  Cloth  bevelled,  353. ; 
half-morocco,  455. 

Doings  of  Raffles  Haw,  The.  By 
A.  CONAN  DOYLE.  35.  6d. 

Dore  Bible,  The.  With  200  Full- 
page  Illustrations  by  DORI£.  155. 

Dore  Don  Quixote,  The.  With 
about  400  Illustrations  by  Gus- 
TAVE  DORE.  Cheap  Edition. 
Cloth,  los.  6d. 

Dore"  Gallery,  The.  With  250  Illus- 
trations by  DORE.  425. 

Dora's  Dante's  Inferno.  Illustrated 
by  GUSTAVE  DORE.  Large  410 
Edition,  cloth  gilt,  2is. 

Dore's  Dante's  Purgatory  and  Para- 
dise. Illustrated  by  GUSTAVE  DORE. 
Cheap  Edition.  73.  6d. 

Dore's  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  Illus- 
trated by  DORE.  410,  2is.  Popular 
Edition.  Cloth  or  buckram,  73.  6d. 
Cheap  Edition.  In  One  Vol.,  123. 6d. 

Earth's  Beginning,  The.  By  SIR 
ROBERT  BALL,  LL.D.  Illustrated. 
73.  6d. 

Earth,  Our,  and  its  Story.  By  Dr. 
ROBERT  BROWN,  F.L.S.'  With 
Coloured  Plates  and  numerous  En- 
gravings. Cheap  Edition.  3  Volt, 
55.  each. 


Selections  from  Cassell  6°  Company's  Publications. 


Egypt :  Descriptive,  Historical,  and 
Picturesque.  By  Prof.  G.  EBERS. 
With  800  Original  Engravings. 
Popular  Edition.  In  Two  Vols.  423. 

Electric  Current,  The.  How  Pro- 
duced and  How  Used.  By  R. 
MULLINEUX  WALMSLEY,  D.Sc., 
&c.  Illustrated.  los.  6d. 

Electricity  in  the  Service  of  Man. 
Illustrated.  Cheaper  Edition.  73. 6d. 

Electricity,  Practical  By  Prof.  W. 
E.  AYRTON,  F.R.S.  Entirely  New 
and  Enlarged  Edition,  completely 
re- written.  95. 

England  and  Wales,  Pictorial  With 
upwards  of32o beautiful  Illustrations 
prepared  from  copyright  photo- 
graphs. 95. 

England,  A  History  of.  From  the 
Landing  of  Julius  Cassar  to  the 
Present  Day.  By  H.  O.  ARNOLD- 
FORSTER,  M.A.  Fully  Illustrated. 
5<;.  Cloth  gilt,  gilt  edges,  6s.  6d. 

English  Dictionary,  Cassell's.  Giving 
Definitions  of  more  than  100,000 
Words  and  Phrases.  Cheap  Edition, 
35.  6d. 

English  History,  The  Dictionary  of. 
Edited  by  SIDNEY  Low,  B.A.,  and 
Prof.  F.  S.  PULLING,  M.A.  New 
Edition,  73.  6d. 

English  Literature,  Morley's  First 
Sketch  Of.  Revised  Edition. 
75.  6d. 

English  Literature,  The  Story  of. 
By  ANNA  BUCKLAND.  35.  6d. 

English  Writers.  By  Prof.  HENRY 
MORLEY.  Vols.  I.  to  XI.,  55.  each. 

Familiar  Butterflies  and  Moths. 
By  W.  F.  KIRBY,  F.L.S.  With 
18  Coloured  Plates.  6s. 

Family  Doctor,  Cassell's.  By  A 
MEDICAL  MAN.  Illustrated.  6s. 

Family  Lawyer,  Cassell's.  An  En- 
tirely New  and  Original  Work.  By 
A  BARRISTER-AT-LAW.  IDS.  6d. 

Father  Stafford.  By  ANTHONY 
HOPE.  33.  6d. 

Field  Hospital,  The  Tale  of  a.    By 

SirFREDERICKTREVES,  K.C.V.O., 

F.R.C.S.  With  14  Illustrations.  6s. 
Field  Naturalist's  Handbook,  The. 
By  the  Revs.  J.  G.  WOOD  and 
THEODORE  WOOD.  Cheap  Edi- 
tion, as.  6d. 


Figuier's  Popular  Scientific  Works. 

Illustrated.     35.  6d.  each. 
THB  HUMAN  RACE. 
MAMMALIA. 
THE  OCEAN  WORLD. 
THB  INSECT  WORLD. 
REPTILES  AND  BIRDS. 
THB  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  DELUGE. 
THE  VEGETABLE  WORLD. 

Franco-German  War,  Cassell's  His* 
tory  of  the.  Complete  in  Two 
Vols.  Containing  about  500  Illus- 
trations. Cheap  Edition.  6s.  each. 

From  the  Memoirs  of  a  Minister  of 
France.  By  STANLEY  WEYMAN. 
33.  6d. 

Fruit  Growing,  Pictorial  Practical. 
By  W.  P.  WRIGHT.  Illustrated. 
Paper  covers,  is.  Cloth,  is.  6d. 

Gardening,  Pictorial  Practical.  By 
W.  P.  WRIGHT.  With  upwards 
of  140  Illustrations.  Paper  covers, 
is.  Cloth,  is.  6d. 

Garden  Flowers,  Familiar.  With 
200  Full  -  page  Coloured  Plates. 
Cheap  Edition.  In  Five  Vols., 
35.  6d.  each.  By  Prof.  F.  EDWARD 
HULME,  F.L.S.,  F.S.A. 

Gardener,  The.  Yearly  Volume.  Pro- 
fusely Illustrated.  75.  6d. 

Gazetteer  of  Great  Britain  and  Ire- 
land, Cassell's.  With  numerous 
Illustrations  and  60  Maps.  Six 
Vols.,  55.  each. 

Garden  of  Swords,  The.  By  MAX 
PEMBERTON.  6s. 

Giant's  Gate,  The.  By  MAX  PEM- 
BERTON. 6s. 

Girl  at  Cobhurst,  The.  By  FRANK 
STOCKTON.  35.  6d. 

Gladstone,  William  Ewart,  The  life 
of.  Edited  by  SIR  WEMYSS  REID. 
Illustrated.  75.  6d.  Superior 
Edition,  in  Two  Vols.  95. 

Gleanings  from  Popular  Authors. 
Illustrated.  Cheap  Edition.  35.  6d. 

Gun  and  its  Development,  The. 
By  W.  W.  GREENER.  With  sop 
Illustrations.  Entirely  New  Edi- 
tion. IDS.  6d. 

Gun-Room  Ditty  Box,  A.  By  G. 
STEWART  BOWLES.  With  a  Pre- 
face by  Rear  -  Admiral  Lord 
CHARLES  BERESFORD,  M.P.  25. 

Heavens,  The  Story  of  the.  By  Sir 
ROBERT  BALL,  LL.D.  With 
Coloured  Plates.  Popular  Eaitiom. 
los.  6d. 


Selections  from  Cassell  6*  Company's  Publications. 


Heroes  of  Britain  in  Peace  and 
War.  With  300  Original  Illustra- 
tions. Cheap  Edition.  Complete 
in  One  Vol.  35.  6d. 

Highway  of  Sorrow,  The.  By 
HESBA  STRETTON.  35.  6d. 

Hispaniola  Plate,  The.  By  J. 
BLOUNDELLE- BURTON  35.  6d. 

History,  A  Foot-Note  to.  Eight  Years 
of  Trouble  in  Samoa.  By  ROBERT 
Louis  STEVENSON.  6s. 

Houghton,  Lord  :  The  Life,  Letters, 
and  Friendships  of  Richard 
Monckton  Milnes,  First  Lord 
Houghton.  BySirWEMYSS  REID. 
In  Two  Vols. ,  with  Two  Portraits. 
323. 

Hygiene  and  Public  Health.  By 
B.  ARTHUR  WHITELEGGE,  M.D. 
75.  6d. 

la :    A  Love    Story.      By  A.   T. 

QUILLER-COUCH  (Q).      33.  6d. 

Impregnable  City,  The.    By  MAX 

PEMBERTON.     33.  6d. 
India,  Cassell's  History  of.    In  One 

Vol.     Cheap  Edition.     Illustrated. 

75.  6d. 
In  Royal  Purple.      By   WILLIAM 

PIGOTT.    6s. 

Iron  Pirate,  The.  By  MAX  PEM- 
BERTON. 35.  6d  People's  Edition. 

6d. 
Kidnapped.    By  R.  L.  STEVENSON. 

33.  6d.     People's  Edition.     6d. 
Kilogram,  The  Coming  of  the ;  or, 

The  Battle  of  the  Standards.    By 

H.    O.    ARNOLD-FORSTER,     M.A. 

Illustrated.     Cheap  Edition.     6d. 
King   Solomon's    Mines.      By    H. 

RIDER     HAGGARD.       Illustrated. 

35.  6d.     People's  Edition,  6d. 
King's  Hussar,  A.    By  H.  COMPTON. 

33.  6d. 
Kronstadt.    By  MAX  PEMBERTON. 

6s. 
Ladies'    Physician,    The.      By    A 

LONDON  PHYSICIAN.    33.  6d. 
Laird's   Luck,  and  other  Fireside 

Tales.     By  A.  T.  QUILLER-COUCH 

(Q).     6s. 
Landels,  D.D.,  William.    A  Memoir. 

By  his  Son,  the  Rev.  THOMAS  D. 

LANDELS,    M.A.     With   Portrait. 

6s. 


Landscape  Painting  in  Water- 
Colour.  By  J.  MACWHIRTER, 
R.A.  With  23  Coloured  Plates. 
Ss- 

Lepidus  the  Centurion :  A  Roman 
of  To-day.  By  EDWIN  LESTER 

ARNOLD.     6s. 

Letts's  Diaries  and  other  Time- 
saving  Publications  published 

exclusively    by  CASSELL  &   COM- 
PANY.    (A  list  free  on  application.) 
Life  of  Lives  :  Further  Studies  in 

the    Life  of  Christ      By  DEAN 

FARRAR.     153. 
List,  Ye  Landsmen!    By  W.  CLARK 

RUSSELL.     33.  6d. 
Little   Huguenot,   The.     By  MAX 

PEMBEBTON.  New  Edition,  is.  6d. 
Little    Minister,    The.     By  J.    M. 

BARRIE.    6s. 
Little  Novice,  The.    By  ALIX  KING. 

6s. 
Little  Squire,  The.    By  Mrs.  HENRY 

DE  LA  PASTURE.     33.  6d. 
London  Afternoons.     By  Rev.  W. 

J.    LOFTIE,    F.S.A.       Illustrated. 

IDS.  6d.  net. 

London,  Cassell's  Guide  to.  Illus- 
trated. New  Edition,  6d.  ;  cloth, 

is. 
London,  Greater.    Two  Vols.    With 

about     400    Illustrations.       Cheap 

Edition.     45.  6d.  each. 
London,  Old  and  New.      Six  Vols. 

With  about  1,200  Illustrations  and 

Maps.      Cheap    Edition.      43.   6d. 

each. 
Loveday.      By    A.    E.    WICKHAM. 

33.  6d. 
Man  in  Black,  The.     By  STANLEY 

WEYMAN.     33.  6d. 
Man  of  Millions,  A.     By  SAMUEL 

KEIGHTLEY,  LL.D.     6s. 
Marine  Painting  in  Water-Colour. 

By  W.  L.  WYLLIE,  A.R.A.     With 

24  Coloured  Plates.     53. 
Masque  of  Days,  A.    With  40  pages 

of  Designs  in  Colour  by  WALTER 

CRANK.     6s. 
Master  of  Ballantrae.     By  R.   L. 

STEVENSON.  6s.  Popular  Edition. 

35.  6d. 
Mechanics,  Cassell's  Cyclopaedia  of. 

Edited   by   PAUL    N.  HASLUCK. 

With  upwards  of  1,200    Illustra- 
tions.    75.  6d. 


6        Selections  from  Cassell  6-  Company's  Publications. 


Medicine,  Manuals  for  Students  of. 

(A  list  forwarded  pas'  free. ) 

Military  Forces  of  the  Crown. 
Their  Organisation  and  Equip- 
ment. By  Colonel  W.  H.  DANIEL. 
Illustrated.  55. 

Modern  Europe,  A  History  of.  By 
C.  A.  FYFFE,  M.A.  Cheap  Edition. 
los.  6d.  Library  Edition.  Illus- 
trated. Three  Vols.  73.  6d.  each. 

Mrs.  Cliff's  Yacht.  By  FRANK 
STOCKTON.  33.  6d. 

Music,  Illustrated  History  of.  By 
EMIL  NAUMANN.  Edited  by  the 
Rev.  Sir  F.  A.  GORE  OUSELEY, 
Bart.  Illustrated.  Cheap  Edition. 
Two  Vols.  iSs. 

My  Lord  Duke.  By  E.  W.  HORNUNG. 
33.  6d. 

National  Gallery,  The.  Edited  by 
Sir  E.  J.  POYNTER,  P.R.A.  Illus- 
trating every  Picture  in  the  National 
Gallery.  In  Three  Vo!s.  £14  145. 
the  set,  net 

National  Gallery  Catalogue.  Pro- 
fusely Illustrated.  6d.  net. 

National  Library,  Cassell's.  3d. 
and  6d.  List  post  free  on  appli- 
cation. 

National  Portrait  Gallery.  Edited 
by  LIONEL  CUST,  M.A.,  F.S.A. 
Illustrating  every  pic:ure  in  the 
National  Portrait  Gallery.  Two 
Vols.  £6  6s.  net. 

Natural  History,  Cassell's  Concise. 
By  E.  PERCEVAL  WRIGHT,  M.A., 
M.D..  F.L.S.  With  several  Hun- 
dred Illustrations.  75. 6d. 

Natural  History,  Cassell's.  Cheap 
Edition.  With  about  2,000  Illus- 
trations. In  Three  Double  Vols. 
6s.  each. 

Nature  and  a  Camera,  With.  By 
RICHARD  KEARTON,  F.Z.S.  With 
Frontispiece,  and  180  Pictures  from 
Photographs  by  C.  KEARTON.  213. 

Nature's    Wonder    Workers..      By 

KATE   R.    LOVELL,       Illustrated. 

2s.  6d. 
New  Far  East,  The.     By  ARTHUR 

Di6SY.  Illustrated.  Cheap  Edition. 

6s, 


North-West  Passage,  by  Land,  The. 
By  Lord  MILTON  and  Dr. 
CHEADLE.  Cheap  Edition.  25. 

Old  Fires  and  Profitable  Ghosts. 
By  A.  T.  QUILLER-COUCH  (Q).  6s. 

Optics.  By  Professors  GALBRAITH 
and  HAUGHTON.  Entirely  New 
and  Enlarged  Edition.  Illustrated. 
2S.  6d. 

Our  Bird  Friends.  By  R.  KEARTON, 
F.  Z.S.  With  loo  Illustrations  from 
Photographs  by  C.  KEARTON.  55. 

Our  Own  Country.  With  1,200 
Illustrations.  Cheap  Edition.  Three 
Double  Vols.  53.  each. 

Oxford,  Reminiscences  of.  By  the 
Rev.  W.  TUCKWELL,  M.A.  With 
16  Full-page  Illustrations.  93. 

Painting,  Practical  Guides  to.  With 

Coloured  Plates : — 
CHINA  PAINTING,   $s. 
ELEMENTARY  FLOWER  PAINTING.   31. 
NEUTRAL  TINT.   55. 

FLOWERS,  AND  How  TO  PAINT  THEM.   51. 
MACWHIRTER'S  MANUAL  OF  OIL  PAINT- 
ING,  as.  6d. 
LANDSCAPE  PAINTING  IN  WATER-COLOUR. 

WY'LLIE'S  MARINE  PAINTING  IN  WATt* 
COLOUR, 

Paris,  Cassell's  Illustrated  Guide  to. 
Paper,  6d.;  cloth,  is. 

Passing  of  The  Dragon,  The.  By 
F.  JAY  CEAGH.  is. 

Peel,  Sir  E.  By  Lord  ROSEBERY. 
2s.  6d. 

Penny  Magazine,  The  New.  With 
about  650  Illustrations.  In  Quarter- 
ly Volumes.  23.  6d.  each. 

Peoples  of  the  World,  The.  By  Dr. 
ROBERT  BROWN.  In  Six  Vols. 
Illustrated.  33.  6d.  each. 

Peril  and  Patriotism.  True  Tales 
of  Heroic  Deeds  and  Startling 
Adventures.  Two  Vols.  in  One.  55. 

Personal  Recollections.  By  H. 
SUTHERLAND  EDWAKDS.  75.  6d. 

Phrase  and  Fable,  Dr.  Brewer's 
Dictionary  of.  New  and  Enlarged 
Edition,  ros.  6d.  Also  in  half- 
morocco.  Two  Vols.,  153. 

Picturesque  America.  In  Four  Vols. , 
with  48  Steel  Plates  and  800  Wood 
Engravings.  £12  ias.  the  set. 
Popular  Edition.  183.  each. 

Picturesque  Canada.  With  600 
Original  Illustrations.  Two  Vols. 
£9  95.  the  set 


Selections  front  Cassell  £*  Company's  Publications. 


Picturesque  Europe.  Popular  Edi- 
tion. In  Five  Vols.  Each  con- 
taining 13  Litho  Plates  and  nearly 
aoo  Illustrations.  6s.  each.  Vols. 
I.  and  II.,  The  British  Isles  ;  Vols. 
III.,  IV.,  and  V.,  The  Continent. 
Vols.  I.  and  II.,  bound  together, 
are  issued  at  los.  6d. 

Picturesque  Mediterranean,   The. 

With  Magnificent  Illustrations  by 
the  leading  Artists  of  the  Day. 
Complete  in  Two  Vols.  £3  23. 
each. 

Pigeons,  Fulton's  Book  of.  Edited 
by  LEWIS  WRIGHT.  Revised,  En- 
larged, and  Supplemented  by  the 
Rev.  W.  F.  LUMLEY.  With  50 
Full-page  Illustrations.  Popular 
Edition.  los.  6d.  Original  Edi- 
tion, with  50  Coloured  Plates  and 
numerous  Wood  Engravings.  2is. 

Planet,  The  Story  of  Our.  By  Prof. 
BONNY,  F.R.S.  With  Coloured 
Plates  and  Maps  and  about  100 
Illustrations.  Cheap  Edition.  ys.6d. 

Playfair.Lyon,  First  Lord  Playfair 
of  St.  Andrews,  Memoirs  and  Cor- 
respondence of.  By  Sir  WEMYSS 
REID.  With  Two  Portraits.  Cheap 
Edition.  75.  6d. 

Playthings  and  Parodies.  By  BARRY 
PAIN.  33.  6d. 

Pomona's  Travels.  By  FRANK 
STOCKTON.  33.  6d. 

Potsherds.  By  Mrs.  HENRY  BIRCH- 
ENOUGH.  6s. 

Poultry,  The  Book  of.  By  LEWIS 
WRIGHT.  Popular  Edition.  los.  6d. 

Poultry,  The  Illustrated  Book  of. 
BY  LEWIS  WRIGHT.  With  50 
Coloured  Plates.  New  Edition  in 
Preparation. 

Poultry  Keeper,  The  Practical    By 

LEWIS  WRIGHT.  With  Eight 
Coloured  Plates,  and  numerous 
Illustrations  in  Text.  New  and 
Enlarged  Edition.  33.  6d. 

Puritan's  Wife,  A.     By  MAX  PEM- 

BERTON.     6s. 

Q's  Works.    53.  each. 
•DEAD  MAN'S  ROCK.    Also  PttpUs  Edition, 

6d. 
•THE  SPLENDID  SPUR. 

•  Also  at  35.  6d. 


Q's  Works  (continued)  : 
THE   ASTONISHING   HISTORY   OF   TROY 
TOWN. 

"I  SAW  THREE  SHIPS."  and  other  Winter'i 
Tales. 

NOUGHTS  AND  CROSSES. 
THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 
WANDERING  HEATH. 

Queen's  Empire,  The.  Containing 
nearly  700  Splendid  full-page  Illus- 
trations. Complete  in  Two  Vols. 
93.  each. 

Queen's  London,  The.  Containing 
nearly  500  Exquisite  Views  of  Lon- 
don and  its  Environs.  Enlarged 
Edition.  los.  6d. 

Queen  Victoria.  A  Personal  Sketch. 
By  Mrs.  OLIPHANT.  With  Three 
Rembrandt  Plates  and  other  Illus- 
trations. 35.  6d.  Also  53.,  half- 
morocco. 

Queen  Victoria.  Her  Life  in  Por- 
traits. 6d.  net.  Cloth,  is.  net. 

Babbit-Keeper,  The  Practical    By 

"CUNICULUS,"  assisted  by  Eminent 
Fanciers.  With  Illustrations.  33.  6d. 

Railway  Guides,  Official.  With  Illus- 
trations, Maps,  &c.  Price  is.  each  ; 
or  in  Cloth,  is.  6d.  each. 

LONDON  AND  NORTH  WESTERN  RAILWAY. 

GREAT  WESTERN  RAILWAY. 

MIDLAND  RAILWAY, 

GREAT  NORTHERN  RAILWAY. 

GREAT  EASTERN  RAILWAY. 

LONDON  AND  SOUTH  WESTERN  RAILWAY. 

LONDON,  BRIGHTON  AND  SOUTH  COAST 

RAILWAY. 
SOUTH  EASTERN  AND  CHATHAM  RAILWAY. 

Bed  Terror,  The.  A  Story  of  the 
Paris  Commune.  By  EDWARD 
KING.  33.  6d. 

Refiner's  Fire,  The.    By  Mrs.  HOCK- 

LIFFE.       33.  6d. 

Rivers  of  Great  Britain :  Descriptive, 
Historical,  Pictorial. 

RIVERS  OF  THE  SOUTH  AND  WEST  COASTS. 
42S. 

THE   ROYAL  RIVER:    The  Thames,   from 
Source  to  Sea.     i5s. 

RIVERS  OF  THE  EAST  COAST.     Popular 
Edition,  i6s. 

Robinson  Crusoe,  Cassell's  Fine-Art 
Edition.  Cheap  Edition.  33. 6d. 

Rogue's  March,  The.     By   E.  W. 

HORNUNG.     35.  6d. 
Roxane.  By  Louis  CRESWICKE.   6s. 

Royal  Academy  Pictures.  Annual 
Volume.  Containing  5  Rembrandt 
Photogravure  Plates.  73.  6d.  a* 


8       Selections  from  Cassell  &1  Company's  Publications. 


Ruskin,  John :  A  Sketch  of  Hie  Life, 
His  Work,  and  His  Opinions,  with 
Personal  Reminiscences.  By  M. 

H.  SPIELMANN.    55. 
Rosso-Turkish  War,  Cassell's  His- 
tory of.      With  about  500   Illus- 
trations. New  Edition.  Two  Vols. , 
•95.  each. 
Saturday  Journal,  Cassell's.    Yearly 

Volume,  cloth,  75.  6d. 
Scales  of  Heaven,  The.   Narrative, 
Legendary  and  Meditative.  With 
a  few  Sonnets.     By  the  Rev.  FRED- 
ERICK LANGBRIDGE.    55. 
Science  Series,  The  Century.    Con- 
sisting of  Biographies  of  Eminent 
Scientific  Men  of  the  present  Cen- 
tury. Edited  by  Sir  HENRY  ROSCOE, 
D.  C.  L. ,  F.  R.  S.    Crown  8vo.    New 
Edition.    2S.  6d.  each. 
JOHN  DALTON  AND  THE  RISE  OF  MODERN 

CHEMISTRY.     By  Sir   Henry  E.  Roscoe, 

F.R.S. 
MAJOR  RENNELL,  F.R.S..  AND  THE  RISE 

OF  ENGLISH  GEOGRAPHY.  By  Sir  Clements 

R.  Markham,  C.B..  F.R.S. 
JUSTUS     VON     LIEBIG:       HIS     LIFE     AND 

WORK.    By  W.  A.  Shenstone.  F.I.C. 
THE  HERECHELS  AND  MODERN  ASTRO- 

NOMY.    By  Miss  Agnes  M.  Clerke. 
CHARLES  L.YELL  AND  MODERN  GEOLOGY. 

By  Professor  T.  G.  Bonney.  F.R.S. 
J.  CLERK  MAXWELL  AND  MODERN  PHYSICS. 

By  R.  T.  Glazebrook,  F.R.S. 

HUMPHRY  DAVY.  POET  AND  PHILOSOPHER. 

By  T.  E.  Thorpe,  F.R.S. 

CHARLES  DARWIN  AND  THE  THEORY  OF 
NATURAL  SELECTION.  By  Edward  P. 
Poulton.  M.A.,  F.R.S. 

PASTEUR.  By  Percy  Frankland,  Ph.D.  (Wiirz- 
burg),  B.Sc.  (Lond.J,  and  Mrs.  Percy  Frank- 
land. 

MICHAEL  FARADAY:  His  LIFE  AND  WORK. 
By  Professor  Silvanus  P.  Thompson,  F.R.S. 

Science   for   All      Edited   by    Dr. 

ROBERT  BROWN.     Cheap  Edition. 

In  Five  Vols.     35.  6d.  each. 
Sea,  The  Story  of  the.   Edited  by  Q. 

Illustrated.    In  Two  Vols.  95.  each. 

Cheap  Edition.    53.  each. 
Sea  Wolves,  The.    By  MAX  PEM- 

BERTON.      33.  6d.      People's  Edi- 
tion.    6d. 
Sentimental  Tommy.      By   J.   M. 

BARRIE.     Illustrated.     6s. 
Shaftesbury,  The  Seventh  Earl  cf, 

K.G.,  The  Life  and  Work  of.    By 

EDWIN  HODDER.     Cheap  Edition. 

35.  6d. 
Shakespeare,  The  Plays  of.     Edited 

by    Professor    HENRY    MORLEY. 

Complete  in  Thirteen  Vols.,  cloth, 

ais. ;   also  39  Vols.,  cloth,  in  box, 

215. 


Shakespeare,  National  Library  Ed- 
ition. 37  Vols.  Leather.  is.6d.  net 
each. 

Shakespeare,  The  England  of.  New 
Edition.  By  E.  GOADBY.  With 
Full-page  Illustrations,  as.  6d. 

Shakspere,  The  Leopold.  ^With  400 
Illustrations.  Cheap  Edition.  35. 6d. 
Cloth  gilt,  gilt  edges,  53. ;  roxburgh, 
73.  6d. 

Shakspere,  The  RoyaL  With  50 
Full-page  Illustrations.  Complete 
in  Three  Vols.  35.  6d.  each. 

Shaw,  Alfred,  Cricketer:  His  Career 
and  Reminiscences.  Recorded  by 
A.  W.  PULLEN.  With  a  Statist- 
ical Chapter  by  ALFRED  J.  GASTON. 
Illustrated,  as.  6d. 

Shellback,  The:  At  Sea  In  the 
'Sixties.  By  ALEC  J.  BOYD.  6s. 

Ship   of   Stars,   The.      By   A.    T. 

QUILLER-COUCH  (Q).      6s. 

Shop,"  "The:  The  Story  of  the 
Royal  Military  Academy.  By 
CAPTAIN  GUGGISBERG,  R.E.  With 
16  Full  -  page  Coloured  Plates, 
las.  6d.  net.. 

Sights  and  Scenes  in  Oxford  City 
and  University.  With  100  Illus- 
trations after  Original  Photographs. 
a  is. 

Social  England.  A  Record  of  the 
Progress  of  the  People.  By  various 
Writers.  Edited  by  the  late  H.  D. 
TRAILL,  D.C.L.  New  Illustrated 
Edition,  to  be  completed  in  Six 
Vols.  Vol.  I.,  las.  net. 

Soldier  of  the  King,  A.  By  DORA 
M.  JONES.  6s. 

Some  Persons  Unknown,  By  E.  W. 
HORNUNG.  35. 6d. 

Songs  of  Near  and  Far  Away.  By 
E.  RICHARDSON.  With  numerous 
Coloured  and  other  Illustrations.  6s. 

Spectre  Gold,  By  HEADON  HILL. 
33.  6d. 

Splendid   Spur,  The.      By   A.   T. 

QUILLKR-COUCH  (Q).      35.  6d. 

Sports  and  Pastimes,  Cassell's 
Complete  Book  of.  Cheap  Edition. 
With  more  than  900  Illustrations. 
Medium  8vo,  992  pages,  cloth,  33. 6d. 

Standard  Library,  Cassell's.  Pop- 
ular Works  by  Great  Authors  of  the 
Past.  12  Vols.  is.  net  each. 

Star-Land.  By  Sir  ROBERT  BALL. 
LL.  D.  Illustrated.  New  and  En- 
larged Edition.  75.  6d. 


Selections  from  Cassell  &  Company's  Publications.       9 


Story  of  Francis  Cludde,  The.  By 
STANLEY  WEYMAN.  33.  6d. 

Sun,  The  Story  of  the.  By  Sir 
ROBERT  BALL,  LL.D.  With  Eight 
Coloured  Plates  and  other  Illus- 
trations. Cheap  Edition,  ros.  6d. 

Technical  Instruction.    A  Series  of 

Practical   Volumes.     Edited  by  P. 

N.  HASLUCK.  Illustrated,  as.  each. 

Vol.  I.    PRACTICAL  STAIRCASE   JOIN- 

Vol.  II.  PRACTICAL     METAL     PLATE 

WORK. 

Vol.  in.  PRACTICAL  GAS  FITTING. 
Vol.  IV.  PRACTICAL    DRAUGHTSMEN'S 

WORK. 

Tidal  Thames,  The.  By  GRANT 
ALLEN.  With  India  Proof  Im- 
pressions of  20  magnificent  Full- 
page  Photogravure  Plates,  and  with 
many  other  Illustrations  in  the  Text 
after  Original  Drawings  by  W.  L. 
WYLLIE,  A.R.A.  New  Edition. 
Cloth,  423.  net. 

Tommy  and  Grizel.  By  J.  M.  BARRIE. 
6s. 

Treasure  Island.  By  R.  L.STEVENSON 
Cheap  Illustrated  Edition.  35.  6d. 

"Unicode":  The  Universal  Tele- 
graphic Phrase  Book.  Desk  or 
Pocket  Edition.  23.  6d. 

Universal  History,  Cassell's  Illus- 
trated. Four  Volumes,  gs.  each. 
Cheap  Edition.  53.  each. 

Vanished  Rival,  A.    By  J.  BLOUN- 

DELLE-BURTON.      6s. 

Vizier  of  the  Two-Horned  Alex- 
ander, The.  By  FRANK  STOCKTON. 
33.  6d. 

Vicat  Cole,  R.A.,  The  Life  and 
Paintings  of.  Illustrated.  In  Three 
Volumes.  ^3  35. 

Wallace  Collection  in  Hertford 
House,  The.  By  M.  H.  SPIEL- 
MANN,  is. 


War  Office,  The,  the  Army,  and  the 
Empire.  By  H.  O.  ARNOLD- 
FORST'ER,  M.A.  is. 

Wars  of  the  'Nineties,  The.  A 
History  of  the  Warfare  of  the  last 
Ten  Years  of  the  igth  Century. 
Profusely  Illustrated.  In  One  Vol. 
?s.  6d. 

Westminster  Abbey,  Annals  of.    By 

E.  T.  BRADLEY  (Mrs.  A.  MURRAY 
SMITH).  Illustrated.  Cheap  Edition. 

2IS. 

What  Cheer !    By  W.  CLARK  RUS- 
SELL.    35.  6d. 
White  Shield,  The.     By   BERTRAM 

MlTFORD.      33.   6d. 

Whist,Encyclopsedia  of  the  Game  of. 

By  Sir  WILLIAM  CUSACK-SMITH, 
Bart.    23.  6d. 
Wild  Flowers,  Familiar.    By  Prof. 

F.  EDWARD  HuLME,F.L.S.,F.S.  A. 
With  240  beautiful  Coloured  Plates. 
Cheap  Edition.     In  Six   Volumes. 
33.  6d.  each. 

Wild  Life  at  Home :  How  to  Study 
and  Photograph  It.  By  RICHARD 
KEARTON,  F.Z.S.  Illustrated  from 
Photographs  by  C.  KEAKTON.  6s. 

Wit  and  Humour,  Cassell's  New 
World  of.  Two  Vols.  6s.  each. 

Work.  The  Illustrated  Weekly 
Journal  for  Mechanics.  Half- 
Yearly  Vols.  45.  6d.  each. 

"  Work "  Handbooks.  Practical 
Manuals  prepared  under  the  direc- 
tion of  PAUL  N.  HASLUCK,  Editor 
of  Work.  Illustrated,  is.  each. 

World  of  Wonders.  Illustrated. 
Cheap  Edition.  Two  Vols.  43.  6d. 
each. 

Wrecker,  The.  By  R.  L.  STEVENSON 
and  LLOYD  OSBOURNE.  6s.  Popu- 
lar Edition.  33.  6d. 

Young  Blood.  By  E.  W.  HORNUNG. 
".  6d. 


Illustrated  Magazines  and  Practical  Journals, 


THE  QUIVER.     Monthly,  6d. 
CASSELL'S  MAGAZINE.  Monthly,  6d. 
THE     NEW     PENNY     MAGAZINE. 

Weekly,   id ;    Monthly,  6d. 
LITTLE  FOLKS.     Monthly,  6d. 
THE  MAGAZINE  OF  ART.   Monthly, 

is.  4d. 
TINY    TOTS.      For  the  Very   Little 

Ones.     Monthly,  id. 


CASSELL'S    SATURDAY    JOURNAL. 

Weekly,  id.;  Monthly,  6d. 
CHUMS.       The     Paper     for     Boys. 

Weekly,   id. ;    Monthly,  6d. 
WORK.     Weekly,   id.;   Monthly,  6d. 

BUILDING   WORLD.     Weekly,    id.; 

Monthly,  6d. 
THE    GARDENER.        Weekly,    id.; 

Monthly,  6d. 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED,  Ludeatt  HOI.  iontton. 


IO      Selections  from  Cassett  6*  Company's  Publications. 


Bibles  and  Religious  Works. 


Bible  Biographies.  Illus.  is.  6d.  each. 
THE  STORY  OF  MOSES  AND  JOSHUA.  By 

the  Rev.  J.  Telford. 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  JUDGES.   By  the  Rev. 

J.  Wycliffe  Gedge. 
THE  STORY  OP  SAMUEL  AND  SAUL.  By  the 

Rer.  D.  C.  Tovey. 

THE  STORY  OF  DAVID.    By  the  Rev.  J.  Wi'd. 
THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH.    Its  Lessons  for 

To-day.    By  the  Rev.  George  Uainton. 

THE  STORY  OF  JESUS.  In  Verse.  By  J.  R. 
Macduff,  D.D. 

BiblA  Commentary.  Edited  by 
Bishop  ELLICOTT.  Handy  Volume 
Edition,  suitable  for  school  and 
general  use.  Vols.  f.om  2s.  6d.  to 
33.  6d. 

Bible  Dictionary,  Cassell's  Concise. 
By  the  Rev.  ROBERT  HUNTER, 
LL.D.  Illustrated.  75.  6d 

Bible  Student  in  the  British  Museum, 
The.  By  the  Rev.  J.  G.  KITCHIN, 
M.A.  New  and  Revised  Edition. 
is.  40!. 

Bunyan,  Cassell's  Illustrated.  With 
200  Original  Illustrations.  Cheap 
Edition.  35.  6d. 

Child's  Bible,  The.  With  100  Illus- 
trations and  Coloured  Plates.  New 
Edition.  los.  6d. 

Child's  Life  of  Christ,  The.  With 
200  Illustrations.  75.  6d. 

Church  of  England,  The.  A  History 
for  the  People.  By  the  Very  Rev. 
H.  D.  M.  SPENCE,  D.D.,  Dean  of 
Gloucester.  Illustrated.  Complete 
in  Four  Vols.  6s.  each. 

Church  Reform  in  Spain  and  Portu- 
gal. By  the  Rev.  H.  E.  NOYES, 
D.D.  Illustrated,  as.  6d. 

A  Bible  Commentary  for  English 
Readers.  Edited  by  Bishop  ELLI- 
COTT. With  Contributions  by 
eminent  Scholars  and  Divines : — 

NEW  TESTAMENT.  Popular  Edition.  Un- 
abridged. Three  Vols.  6s.  each. 

OLD  TESTAMENT.  Pafutar  Edition.  Un- 
•brldged.  Five  Vols.  6s.  each. 


Dore"  Bible.  With  200  Full-page 
Illustrations  by  GUSTAVE  DORE. 
Popular  Edition.  155. 

Early  Christianity  and  Paganism. 
By  the  Rev.  H.  D.  SPENCE.  Illus- 
trated. 2  is. 

Early  Days  of  Christianity,  The. 
By  the  Very  Rev.  Dean  FARRAR, 
D.D.,  F.R.S.  Library  Edition. 
Two  Vols.,  243.  ;  morocco,  £2  23. 
Popular  Edition.  Complete  in 
One  Volume.  Cloth,  gilt  edges, 
75.  6d.  Cheap  Edition.  Cloth  gilt, 
35.  6d.  ;  paste  grain,  55.  net. 

Family  Prayer-Book,  The.  Edited 
by  the  Rev.  Canon  GARRETT, 
M.A.,  and  Rev.  S.  MARTIN.  With 
Full-page  Illustrations.  75.  6d. 

Gleanings  after  Harvest  Studies 
and  Sketches  by  the  Rev.  JOHN  R. 
VERNON,  M.A.  Illustrated.  Cheap 
Edition.  35.  6d. 

"  Graven  in  the  Rock."  By  the  Rev. 
Dr.  SAMUEL  KINNS,  F.R.A.S. 
Illustrated.  Library  Edition.  Two 
Vols.  153. 

"  Heart  Chords."   A  Series  of  Works 
by  Eminent  Divines,     is.  each. 
MY  COMFORT  IN  SORROW.    By  Hugh  Mac- 

millan.  D.D. 
MY  BIBLE.    By  the   Right  Rev.  W.    Boyd 

Carpenter,  Bishop  of  Ripon; 
MY   FATHER.      By  the   Right   Rev.    Ashton 

Ozenden,  late  Bishop  of  Montreal. 
MY  WORK  FOR  GOD.     By  the   Right   Rev. 

Bishop  Cotterill. 
MY  EMOTIONAL  LIFE.    By  the  Rev.  Preb. 

Chadwiclc,  D.D. 
MY  BODY.    By  the  Rev.  Prot  W.  G.  Blailue. 

D.D. 
MY  GROWTH  IN  DIVINE  LIFE.    By  the  Rev. 

Preb.  Reynolds,  M.A. 
MY  SOUL.    By  the  Rev.  P.  B.  Power.  M.A.  - 

MY  HEREAFTER.    By  the  Very  Rer,  Dean 
Bickerstett. 


Selections  from  Cassell  6*  Company's  Publications.     1 1 


"  Heart  Chorda  "  (continued)  :— 

MY  AID  TO  THE  DIVINE  LIFB.  By  the  Very 
Rev.  Dean  Boyle. 

MY  SOURCES  OH  STRENGTH.   By  the  Rev. 

E.  E.  Jenkins,  M.A..  Secretary  of  Wesleyan 
Missionary  Society. 

Helps  to  Belief.  Helpful  Manuals 
on  the  Religious  Difficulties  of  the 
Day.  Edited  by  Canon  TEIGN- 
MOUTH-SHORE.  Cloth,  is.  each. 

MIRACLES.    By  the  Rev.  Brownlow  Malt- 

land,  M.A. 
THE  ATONEMENT.     By    William    Connor 

Magee.  D.D.,  late  Archbishop  of  York. 

Holy  Laud  and  the  Bible.  A  Book 
of  Scripture  Illustrations  gathered 
in  Palestine.  By  the  Rev.  CUN- 
NINGHAM GEIKIE,  D.D.  Cheap 
Edition.  73. 6d.  Superior  Edition. 
With  24  Plates.  Cloth  gilt,  gilt 
edges,  IDS.  6d. 

Life  of  Christ,  The.  By  the  Very 
Rev.  Dean  FARRAR.  Cheap 
Edition.  With  16  Full-page  Plates. 
33.  6d.  Library  Edition.  Two 
Vols.  Cloth,  243.  ;  morocco,  423. 
Large  Type  Illustrated  Edition. 
Cloth,  full  gilt,  gilt  edges,  IDS.  6d. 
Popular  Edition.  With  16  Full- 
page  Plates.  73.  6d. 

Life  of  Lives,  The,  Further  Studies 
in  the  Life  of  Christ  By  Dean 
FARRAR.  153. 

Life  and  Work  of  the  Redeemer. 

Illustrated.     6s. 

Matin  and  Vesper  Bells.  Earlier 
and  Later  Collected  Poems. 
(Chiefly  Sacred).  By  J.  R.  MAC- 
DUFF,  D.D.  Two  Vols.  73.  6d. 
the  set. 

Methodism,  Side  Lights  on  the 
Conflicts  of.  During  the  Second 
Quarter  of  the  Nineteenth  Century, 
1827-1852.  From  the  Notes  of  the 
late  Rev.  JOSEPH  FOWLER  of  the 
Debates  of  the  Wesleyan  Con- 
ference. Cloth,  8s.  Popular  Edi- 
tion. Unabridged.  Cloth,  3$.  6i 


Moses  and  Geology ;  or,  The  Har- 
mony of  the  Bible  with  Science. 
By  the  Rev.  SAMUEL  KINNS, 
Ph. D..F.R. A. S.  Illustrated.  ios.6d. 
net. 

Plain  Introductions  to  the  Books 
of  the  Old  Testament.  Edited  by 
BISHOP  ELLICOTT.  33.  6d. 

Plain  Introductions  to  the  Books 
of  the  New  Testament.  Edited 
by  Bishop  ELLICOTT.  33.  6d. 

Protestantism,  The  History  of. 
By  the  Rev.  J.  A.  WYLIE,  LL.D. 
Containing  upwards  of  600  Orig- 
inal Illustrations.  Cheap  Edition. 
Three  Vols.  35.  6d.  each. 

Quiver  Yearly  Volume,  The.  With 
about  900  Original  Illustrations. 
75.  6d. 

St.   Paul,  The  Life  and  Work  of. 

By  the  Very  Rev.  Dean  FARRAR. 
Cheap  Edition.  With  16  Full-page 
Plates,  35.  6d. ;  Cheap  Illustrated 
Edition,  75.  6d.  ;  Library  Edition, 
Two  Vols.,  243.  or  425.  Illus- 
trated Edition.  £i  is.  or  £z  23. 
Popular  Edition.  73.  6d. 

"  Six  Hundred  Years  "  ;  or,  His- 
torical Sketches  of  Eminent  Men 
and  Women  who  have  more  or  less 
come  into  contact  with  the  Abbey 
and  Church  of  Holy  Trinity, 
Minories,  from  1293  to  1893.  With 
65  Illustrations.  By  the  Vicar,  the 
Rev.  Dr.  SAMUEL  KINNS.  153. 

"  Sunday,"  Its  Origin,  History,  and 
Present  Obligation.  By  the  Ven. 
Archdeacon  HESSEY,  D.C.L.  Fifth 
Edition.  73. 6d. 


12     Selections  from  Cassell  &  Company's  Publications. 


Educational  Works  and  Students'  Manuals* 


Alphabet,  Cassell's  Pictorial,  as. 
and  2S.  6d. 

Atlas,  Cassell's  Popular.  Contain- 
ing 24  Coloured  Maps.  is.  6d. 

Blackboard  Drawing.  By  W.  E. 
SPARKES.  Illustrated.  53. 

Book  -  Keeping.  By  THEODORE 
JONES.  For  Schools,  25.;  clothes. 
For  the  Million,  as.;  cloth,  35. 
Books  for  Jones's  System,  2s. 

Chemistry,  The  Public  School  By 
J.  H.  ANDERSON,  M.A.  25.  6d. 

Cassell's  "Eyes  and  No  Eyes" 
Series.  By  ARABELLA  BUCKLEY. 
With  Coloured  Plates  and  other 
Illustrations.  Six  Books.  4d.  and 
6d.  each. 

Cookery  for  Schools.  By  LIZZIE 
HERITAGE.  6d. 

Dulce  Domum.  Rhymes  and  Songs 
for  Children.  Edited  by  JOHN 
FARMER,  Editor  of  "  Gaudeamus," 
&c.  Old  Notation  and  Words,  53. 

N.B. — The  words  of  the  Songs  in  "  Dulce 
Domum  "  (with  the  Airs  in  both  Tonic  Sol-fa 
and  Old  Notation)  can  be  had  in  Two  Parts, 
6d.  each. 

England,  a  History  of.  By  H.  O. 
ARNOLD  -  FORSTER,  M.A.  Illus- 
trated. 55. 

Euclid,  Cassell's.  Edited  by  Prof. 
WALLACE,  M.A.  is. 

Experimental  Geometry.  By  PAUL 
BERT.  Illustrated,  is.  6d. 

Founders  of  the  Empire.  A  Bio- 
graphical Reading  Book  for  School 
and  Home.  By  PHILIP  GIBBS. 
Illustrated,  is.  8d.  Cloth,  25.  6d. 

French-English  and  English-French 
Dictionary.  35.  6d.  or  53. 

Gaudeamus.  Songs  for  Colleges  and 
Schools.  Edited  by  JOHN  FARMER. 
53.  Words  only,  paper  covers,  6d. ; 
cloth,  gd. 


Geography :  A  Practical  Method  of 
Teaching.  Book  I.,  England  and 
Wales,  in  Two  Parts,  6d.  each. 
Book  II.,  Europe.  By  J.  H.  OVER- 
TON,  F.G.S.  6d.  Tracing  Book, 
containing  22  leaves,  ad. 

German  Dictionary,  Cassell's.  (Ger- 
man-English, English  -  German.) 
Cheap  Edition.  Cloth,  35.  6d. ;  half- 
morocco,  55. 

Hand  and  Eye  Training.  By  G. 
RICKS,  B.Sc.  Two  Vols.,  with  16 
Coloured  Plates  in  each.  6s.  each. 

Hand  and  Eye  Training.  By  GEORGE 
RICKS,  B.Sc.,  and  Jos.  VAUGHAN. 
Illustrated.  Vol.  I.,  Designing  with 
Coloured  Papers.  Vol.  II.,  Card- 
board Work.  2S.  each.  Vol.  III., 
Colour  Work  and  Design,  33. 

Historical  Cartoons,  Cassell's  Col- 
oured. Size  45  in.  x  35  in.  as.  each. 
Mounted  on  Canvas  and  varnished, 
with  Rollers,  55.  each. 

In  Danger's  Hour ;  or,  Stout  Hearts 
and  Stirring  Deeds.  A  Book  of 
Adventures  for  School  and  Home. 
With  Coloured  Plates  and  other 
Illustrations.  Cloth,  is.Sd.;  bevelled 
boards,  as.  6d. 

Latin  -  English  and  English  -  Latin 
Dictionary.  35.  6d.  and  53. 

Latin  Primer,  The  First.    By  Prof. 

POSTGATE.      IS. 

Latin  Primer,  The  New.  By  Prof. 
J.  P.  POSTGATE.  Crown8vo.,as.6d. 

Latin  Prose  for  Lower  Forms.  By 
M.  A.  BAYFIELD,  M.A.  23.  6d. 

Laws  of  Every-day  Life.  By  H.  O. 
ARNOLD-FORSTER,  M.A.  is.  6d. 

Marlborough  Books  : —  Arithmetic 
Examples,  35.  French  Exercises, 
35.  6d.  French  Grammar,  as.  6d. 
German  Grammar,  35.  6d. 

Mechanics  and  Machine  Design, 
Numerical  Examples  in  Practical. 
By  R.  G.  BLAINE,  M.E.  ^Revised 
and  Enlarged.  Illustrated.  2S.  6d. 

Mechanics,  Applied.  By  J.  PERRY, 
M.E.,D.Sc.,&c.  Illustrated.  7s.6d. 


Selections  from  Cassell  &  Company's  Publications.      13 


Mechanics,  Cassell's  Cyclopaedia  of. 

Edited  by  P.  N.  HASLUCK.    75.  6d. 

Metric  Charts,  Cassell's  Approved. 
Two  Coloured  Sheets,  42  in.  by 
22 14  in.,  illustrating  by  Designs 
and  Explanations  the  Metric  Sys- 
tem, is.  each.  Mounted  with 
Rollers,  33.  each.  The  two  in  one 
with  Rollers,  53.  each. 

Models  and  Common  Objects,  How 
to  Draw  from.  By  W.  E.  SPARKES. 
Illustrated.  33. 

Models,  Common  Objects,  and  Casts 
of  Ornament,  How  to  Shade  from. 
By  W.  E.  SPARKES.  With  25 
Plates  by  the  Author.  35. 

Object  Lessons  from  Nature.  By 
Prof.  L.  C.  Mi  ALL,  F.L.S.  Fully 
Illustrated.  New  and  Enlarged 
Edition.  Two  Vols.,  is.  6d.  each. 

Physiology  for  Schools.    By  A.  T. 

SCHOFIELD,  M.D. ,  &c.  Illustrated. 
Cloth,  is.  gd.  ;  Three  Parts,  paper, 
5d.  each  ;  or  cloth  limp,  6d.  each. 

Poetry  for  Children,  Cassell's.  6 
Books,  id.  each  ;  in  One  Vol. ,  6d. 

Popular  Educator,  Cassell's.  With 
Coloured  Plates  and  Maps,  and 
other  Illustrations.  8  Vols.,  53. 
each. 

Readers,  Cassell's  Classical,  for 
School  and  Home.  Illustrated. 
Vol.  I.  (for  young  children),  is.  8d. ; 
Vol.  II.  (boys  and  girls),  23.  6d. 

Readers,  Cassell's  "  Belle  Sauvage." 

An  entirely  New  Series.  Fully 
Illustrated.  Strongly  bound  in  cloth. 
(List  on  application.') 

Readers,  Cassell's  "Higher  Class." 

(List  on  application.} 

Readers,  Cassell's  Readable.  Illus- 
trated. (List  on  application.') 

Readers  for  Infant  Schools,  Col- 
oured. Three  Books.  4d.  each. 

Reader,  The  Citizen.  By  H.  O. 
ARNOLD  -  FORSTER,  M.A.  Illus- 
trated, is.  6d.  Also  a  Scottish 
Edition,  cloth,  is.  6d. 

Reader,  The  Temperance.  By  J. 
DENNIS  HIRD.  is.  or  is.  6d. 


Readers,  Geographical,  Cassell's 
New.  Illustrated.  (List  on  appli- 
cation.) 

Readers,  The  "Modern  School" 
Geographical  (List on  application. ) 

Readers,  The  "Modern  School." 
Illustrated.  (List  on  application.) 

Reckoning,  Howard's  Art  of.  By  C. 
FRUSHER  HOWARD.  Paper  covers, 
is.  ;  cloth,  2S.  New  Edition.  53. 

Round  the  Empire.  By  G.  R. 
PARKIN.  Fully  Illustrated,  is.  6d. 

R.  H.  S.  Curves.  By  Prof.  R.  H. 
SMITH.  A  Set  of  23  Scaled  Tem- 
plates, with  Pamphlet,  IDS.  6d. 

Shakspere's  Plays  for  School  Use. 
9  Books.  Illustrated.  6d.  each. 

Spelling,  A  Complete  Manual  of. 
ByJ.  D.  MORELL,  LL.D.  Cloth, 
is.  Cheap  Edition,  6d. 

Spending  and  Saving :  A  Primer  of 
Thrift.  By  ALFRED  PINHORN, 
is. 

Technical  Manuals,  Cassell's.  Illus- 
trated throughout.  Sixteen  Books, 
from  2S.  to  43.  6d.  (List  on  appli- 
cation.) 

Technical  Educator,  Cassell's.  With 
Coloured  Plates  and  Engravings. 
Complete  in  Six  Volumes.  35.  6d. 
each. 

Technology,  Manuals  of.  Edited  by 
Prof.  AYRTON,  F.R.S.,  and  RICH- 
ARD WORMELL,  D.  Sc.,  M.A. 
Illustrated  throughout.  Seven  Books 
from  33.  6d.  to  53.  each.  (List  on 
application. ) 

Things  New  and  Old;  or,  Stories 
from  English  History.  By  H.  O. 
ARNOLD  -  FORSTER,  M.A.  Illus- 
trated. 7  Books  from  gd.  to  is.  8d. 

This  World  of  Ours.  By  H.  O. 
ARNOLD- FORSTER,  M.A.  Illus- 
trated. Cheap  Edition.  23.  6d. 

Troubadour,  The.  Selections  from 
English  Verse.  Edited  and  Anno- 
tated by  PHILIP  GIBBS,  is.  6d. 

Young  Citizen,  The ;  or,  Lessons  in 
our  Laws.  By  H.  F.  LESTER,  B.A. 
Fully  Illustrated,  2S.  6d.  Also 
issued  in  Two  Parts  under  the 
title  of  "Lessons  in  Our  Laws." 
is.  6d.  each. 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY,   LIMITED,   Ludtatt  Hill,   London. 


14      Selections  from  Cassell  6*  Company's  Publications. 


Books  for  Young  People. 


A  Sunday  Story-Book.  By  MAGGIE 
BROWNE.  Illustrated.  35.  6d. 

Animal  Land  for  Little  People.  By 
S.  H.  HAMER.  Illustrated,  is.  61. 

Beneath  the  Banner.  Being  Narra- 
tives of  Noble  Lives  and  B  ave 
Deeds.  By  F.  J.  CROSS.  Illus- 
trated. Limp  cloth,  is.  Cloth 
gilt,  25. 

Beyond  the  Blue  Mountains.  By 
L.  T.  MEADE.  55. 

Bo-Peep.  A  Book  for  the  Little  Ones. 
With  Original  Stories  and  Verses. 
Illustrated  with  Full-page  Coloured 
Plates,  and  numerous  Pictures  in 
Colour.  Yearly  Volume.  Picture 
Boards,  2S.  6d.  ;  cloth,  35.  6d. 

CasselTs  Picture  Story  Books.  Each 
containing  about  Sixty  Pages  of 
Pictures  and  Stories,  &c.  6d.  each. 

AUNTIE'S  STORIES. 

BIRDIE'S  STORY  BOOK. 

DEWDROP  STORIES. 

LITTLE  CHIMES. 

Good  Morning  !  Good  Night !    By 

F.  J.   CROSS.  Illustrated.     Limp 

cloth,  is.  ;  or  cloth  boards,  gilt 
lettered,  25. 

Heroes  of  Every-day  Life.  By  LAURA 
LANE.  Illustrated.  2s.  6d. 

"  Little  Folks  "  Half- Yearly  Volume. 

Containing  480  p^es,  with  Six 
Full-page  Coloured  Plates,  and 
numerous  other  Pictures  printed  in 
Colour.  Picture  Boards,  35.  6d. 
Cloth  gilt,  gilt  edges,  55.  each. 

Little  Mother  Bunch.  By  Mrs. 
MOLESVVORTH.  Illustrated,  as.  6d. 

Magic  at  Home.  By  Prof.  HOFF- 
MAN. Illustrated.  Cloth  gilt, 
35.  6d. 

Master  Charlie.  By  C.  S.  HARRI- 
SON and  S.  H.  HAMER.  Illus- 
trated. Coloured  boards,  is.  6d. 

Merry  Girls  of  England.  By  L.  T. 
MEADE.  35.  6d. 


Micky  Magee's  Menagerie  ;  or, 
Strange  Animals  and  their 
Doings.  By  S.  H.  HAMER.  With 
Eight  Coloured  Plates  and  other 
Illustrations  by  HARRY  B.  NEIL- 
SON,  is.  6d. 

Notable  Shipwrecks.  Revised  and 
Enlarged  Edition,  is.  Illustrated 
Edition.  2S. 

Peter  Piper's  Peepshow.    By  S.  H. 

HAMER.  With  Illustrations  by  H. 
B.  NEILSON  and  LEWIS  BAUMER. 
is.  6d. 

Pleasant  Work  for  Busy  Fingers. 
By  MAGGIE  BROWNE.  Illustrated, 
as.  6cl. 

Strange  Adventures  in  Dicky  Bird 
Land.  Stories  told  by  Mother 
Birds  to  amuse  their  Chicks, 
and  overhesrd  by  R.  KEARTON, 
F.Z.S.  With  Illustrations  from 
Photographs  by  C.  KEARTON. 
Cloth,  35.  6d.  Cloth  gilt,  gilt 
edges,  53. 

The  Jungle  School ;  or,  Dr.  Jibber- 
Jabber  Burchall's  Academy.  By 
S.  H.  HAMER.  With  lllustratio.  s 
by  H.  B.  NEILSON.  is.  6d. 

The  Master  of  the  Strong  Heart-. 

A   Story   of  Custer's   Last    Ra'lv. 
-   By   E.    S.    BROOKS.      Illustrate.'). 

zs.  6d. 
The  "  Victoria  "  Painting  Book  for 

Little  Folks.     Illustrated,     is. 

"  Tiny  Tots  "  Annual  Volume. 
Boards,  is.  4d.  Cloth,  is.  6d. 

Topsy  Turvy  Tales.  By  S.  H. 
HAMER.  Wkh  Illustrations  by 
HARRY  B.  NEILSOM.  is.  6d. 

Two  Old  Ladies,  Two  Foolish  Fairie  B, 
and  a  Tom  Cat.  The  Surprising 
Adventures  of  Tuppy  and  Tue.  A 
New  Fairy  S'<  ry.  By  MAGGIE 
BROWNE.  With  Four  Colou-ed 
Plates  and  other  Illustrations. 
35.  6d. 

Whys  and  Other  Whys  ;  or,  Curious 
Creatures  and  Their  Tales.  By 
S.  H.  HAMER  and  HARRY  B. 
NEILSON.  Paper  boards,  as.  6d. 
Cloth,  35.  6d. 


Selections  from  Cassell  &  Company1 's  Publications.     15 


CASSELL'S    SHILLING    STORY  BOOKS. 
Interesting  Stories. 


All    Illustrated,   and   containing 


A  PAIR  OF  PRIMROSES. 
ELLA'S  GOLDEN  YEAR. 
LITTLE  QUEEN  MAB. 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  WYVERN  COURT 
THEIR  ROAD  TO  FORTUNE. 
WON  BY  GENTLENESS. 


CASSELL'S  EIGHTEENPENNY  STORY  BOOKS.     Illustrated. 


ALL  IN  A  CASTLE  FAIR. 
BY  LAND  AND  SEA. 
CLARE  LINTON'S  FRIEND. 
DOLLY'S  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS. 
HER  WILFUL  WAY. 


IN  THE  DAYS  OF  KING  GEORGE. 
ON  BOARD  THE  ESMERALDA. 
THE  BRAVEST  OF  THE  BRAVE. 
To  SCHOOL  AND  AWAY. 


BOOKS  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS. 

ASTRAY  IN  THE  FOREST. 
CAPTURED  BY  INDIANS. 
RED    FEATHER.    A  Tale  of   the 
American  Frontier. 


Illustrated.    Cloth,  is.  6d.  each. 

THE     BOY     HUNTERS     OF    KEN- 
TUCKY. 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  CHIEFTAIN. 
WOLF  EAR  THE  INDIAN. 


CASSELL'S  TWO-SHILLING  STORY  BOOKS.     Illustrated. 


A  SELF-WILLED  FAMILY. 
DAISY'S  DILEMMAS. 
FLUFFY  AND  JACK. 
IN  MISCHIEF  AGAIN. 
LITTLE  FOLKS'  SUNDAY  BOOK. 
MR.  BURKE'S  NIECES. 
PEGGY,  AND  OTHER  TALES. 


POOR  NELLY. 

THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  COURT. 
THEFOURCATSOF  THETIPPERTONS. 
THE  MYSTERY  OF  MASTER  MAX  ; 
AND  THE  SHRIMPS  OF  SHRIMPTON. 
UNCLE  SILVIO'S  SECRET. 
WRONG  FROM  THE  FIRST. 


BOOKS  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  zs.  6d.  each. 


A  STRANGE  CRAFT  AND  ITS  WON- 
DERFUL VOYAGES. 

BLAZING  ARROW. 

CAMP-FIRE  AND  WIGWAM. 

CHIEFTAIN  AND  SCOUT. 

COWMEN  AND  RUSTLERS. 

DOWN  THE  MISSISSIPPI. 

FOOTPRINTS  IN  THE  FOREST. 

IN  RED  INDIAN  TRAILS. 

IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PIONEERS. 

IRON  HEART,  WAR  CHIEF  OF  THE 
IROQUOIS. 

KLONDIKE  NUGGETS. 

LOST  IN  SAMOA.  A  Tale  of  Ad- 
venture in  the  Navigator  Islands. 

LOST  IN  THE  WILDS. 

NED  IN  THE  BLOCK  HOUSE.  A 
Story  of  Pioneer  Life  in  Kentucky. 

NED  IN  THE  WOODS.  A  Tale  of 
Early  Days  in  the  West. 

HALF-CROWN  STORY  BOOKS. 
ADAM  HEPBURN'S  Vow. 
AN  OLD  BOY'S  YARNS. 
AT  THE  SOUTH  POLE. 
BY  FIKE  AND  SWORD. 


NED  ON  THE  RIVER.      A   Tale   of 

Indian  River  Warfare. 
PONTIAC,  CHIEF  OF  THE  OTTAWAS. 
RED  JACKET:  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

SENEGAS. 
SCOUTS  AND  COMRADES  :  OR.TECUM- 

SEH,  CHIEF  OF  THE  SHAWANOES. 
SHOD  WITH  SILENCE. 
THE  CAMP  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 
THE  GREAT  CATTLE  TRAIL. 
THE  HUNTERS  OF  THE  CZARK. 
THE  LAST  WAR  TRAIL. 
THE  LOST  TRATL. 
THE  PATH  IN  THE  RAVINE. 
THE  PHANTOM  OF  THE  RIVER. 
THE    RUBBER    HUNTERS  (formerly 

UP  THE  TAPAJOS). 
THE  YOUNG  RANCHERS. 
Two  Bovs  IN  WYOMING. 
UNCROWNING  A  KING. 


COST  OF  A  MISTAKE. 
FAIRWAY  ISLAND. 
FAIRY  TALES  IN  OTHER  LANDS. 
FREEDOM'S  SWOKD. 


1 6      Selections  from  Cassell  <5r*  Company's  Publications. 


HALF-CROWN  STORY  BOOKS  (continued)  :— 


HEROES  OF  THE  INDIAN  EMPIRE. 
LOST  AMONG  WHITE  AFRICANS. 
LOST  ON  Du  CORRIG. 
No.  XIII.;    OR,  THE  STORY  OF 

THE  LOST  VESTAL. 
PERILS  AFLOAT  AND   BRIGANDS 

ASHORE. 
PICTURES  OF  SCHOOL  LIFE  AND 

BOYHOOD. 
ROGUES  OF  THE  FIERY  CROSS. 


STRONG  TO  SUFFER. 

THE  QUEEN'S  SCARLET. 

THE  WHITE  HOUSE  AT  INCH  GoW, 

THROUGH  TRIAL  TO  TRIUMPH. 

TOLD  OUT  OF  SCHOOL. 

To  PUNISH  THE  CZAR. 

To  THE  DEATH. 

WANTED — A  KING;  OR, How  MERLE 

SET  THE  NURSERY  RHYMES  TO 

RIGHTS. 


BOOKS  FOR  THE  LITTLE  ONES.     Fully  Illustrated. 


CASSELL'S  ROBINSON  CRUSOE. 
With  ioo  Illustrations.  Cloth, 
33.  6d.  ;  gilt  edges,  55. 

CASSELL'S  Swiss  FAMILY  ROBIN- 
SON. Illustrated.  Cloth,  33.  6d.  ; 
gilt  edges,  53. 


THE  OLD  FAIRY  TALES.  With 
Original  Illustrations.  Cloth,  is. 

THE  SUNDAY  SCRAP  BOOK.  With 
Several  Hundred  Illustrations.  Pa- 
per boards,  33.  6d. 


ALBUMS  FOR  CHILDREN.    33.  6d.  each. 

MY  OWN  ALBUM  OF  ANIMALS.       I       AND    PLAY.      Containing   Stories 
THE  ALBUM  FOR  HOME,  SCHOOL,    |       by  Popular  Authors.     Illustrated. 

THREE  AND  SIXPENNY  STORY  BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS.      Illustrated. 


BOUND  BY  A  SPELL.    By  the  Hon. 
Mrs.  Greene. 

FIVE  STARS  IN  A  LITTLE  POOL. 
By  Edith  Carrington. 

A  SWEET  GIRL  GRAD- 
UATE. 

BASHFUL  FIFTEEN. 

MERRY  GIRLS  OF  ENG-         By 
LAND.  }-  L.  T. 

RED  ROSE  AND  TIGER     Meade. 
LILY. 

THE  REBELLION  OF  LIL 
CARRINGTON. 


[*\By  J 

7  f  Rob: 


Mrs. 
Robson. 


A   GIRL   WITHOUT  AM-' 

BITION. 

MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

THE  KING'S  COMMAND;  A  STORY 

FOR  GIRLS.   By  Maggie  Symington. 
A  WORLD  OF  GIRLS  :  THE") 

STORY  OF  A  SCHOOL.  By 

POLLY  :     A    NEW  -  FASH-  \  L.  T. 

IONED  GIRL.  Meade. 

THE  PALACE  BEAUTIFUL,  j 
SISTERS    THREE,  "j  By  Jessie  Man- 
TOM    AND    SOME  J-sergh  (Mrs.G.de 

OTHER     GIRLS.  J  Home  Vaizey). 


THREE  AND  SIXPENNY  STORY  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS.     Illustrated.     Cloth  gilt. 


"FOLLOW  MY  LEADER."  By  Tal- 
bot  Baines  Reed. 

FOR  FORTUNE  AND  GLORY:  A 
STORY  OF  THE  SOUDAN  WAR. 
By  Lewis  Hough. 

FOR  GLORY  AND  RENOWN.  By  D. 
H.  Parry. 

THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  A  LOCOMOTIVE 
ENGINE.  By  Henry  Frith. 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  THE  "Es- 
TRELLA":  A  TALE  OF  THE 
SLAVE  TRADE.  By  Commander 
Claud  Harding,  R.N. 


THE  CHAMPION  OF  ODIN;  or,  VIKING 
LIFE  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD.  By  J. 
F.  Hodgetts. 

THE  RED  TERROR  :  A  STORY  OF  THE 
PARIS  COMMUNE.  ByEdward  King. 

THE  THREE  HOMES.  By  the  Very 
Rev.  Dean  Farrar. 

UNDER  BAYARD'S  BANNER.  By 
Henry  Frith. 

UNDER  THE  GREAT  BEAR.  By 
Kirk  Munroe. 

WITH  CLAYMORE  AND  BAYONET. 
By  Colonel  Percy  Groves. 

WITH  REDSKINS  ON  THE  WAR- 
PATH. By  S.  Walkey. 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY'S  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  WILL  BE  SENT  POST  FREE  ON  APPLICATION 

CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED,  Ludfatt  Hill,  London. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Book  Slip-25m-7,'61(Cl437s4)4280 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4058 153  1902 


L  005  708  035  0 


College 
Library 

PR 
4058 
153 
1902 


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